


Midnight Dragon

by rotrude



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Detective Story, M/M, Minor Off-Screen Violence, Past minor character death, Romance, Victorian, Whodunnit, london slums, mention of illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:23:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrude/pseuds/rotrude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late Victorian era, Merlin is a gentleman burglar, Arthur the Scotland Yard officer who must stop him. Until, that is, an unpredictable event causes them to join forces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks go to the mega kind and efficient Crideon for betaing this and helping me with this despite wi-fi trouble-induced semi radio silence and having little forwarning. Many thanks also go to the lovely digthewriter for beta work. 
> 
> Puckboum was my reverse bang artist for this round and as such marvellous visual inspiration for this story. With a cue like his work, you're happy to work on your assignment. I know I was super thrilled. Dear Puck, thank you so much for producing such inspiring, vibrant, in the moment art that gives you so much enegry from just looking at it! (And for extra duties as co-plotter of plots!)
> 
> PS: With links to the wonderful art, which I highly reccommend you check out because it's so lovely and you might fall in love with it!
> 
> [LJ Version](http://puckboum.livejournal.com/27320.html) or aleternatively [On Tumblr](http://coldcigarettes.tumblr.com/post/127441294951/art-for-the-merlin-reverse-big-bang-fic-is)

  


The room was high-ceilinged and airy. Silk wall paper lined the walls in flower bursts and root tangles. The windows faced the park and channelled bright morning light in. It pooled upon the recliners and sofas, upon the low table standing between them, and upon the rows of portraits crowding the space above. It illuminated the escritoire too, highlighting how one single drawer gaped open.

Arthur stepped closer. In the drawer sat a black lacquered wooden box with a small lock. The lid was up and the silk was crumpled in waves, bearing the imprint of the object the box had guarded.

“And inside it was?” Arthur asked, arching an eyebrow.

“The Star of Madras,” Jonas Jones told him. “A stone of substantial worth.”

“It was a diamond, right?” Arthur searched his memory for references to it, but he couldn't say he remembered any. Jewels weren't his forte. “A valuable one?”

Before blowing her nose loudly, Lady Helen snorted. “It was more than valuable, Inspector. It was a one of a kind gem.” She buried her nose in her cambric handkerchief again. “It's a 300 carats diamond of Mogul cut, an exceptionally pure, bluish green gem of rare beauty the Raj of Tripura gifted me when I sang for his court in 1892.”

“Right.” Arthur took out his notepad and pencilled this information in. “And the Star was in place last night?”

“Yes, it was.” Lady Helen clutched at her chest. “Last evening I came into my boudoir to check on it as I do every night.” She invited a nod from Mr Jones. “It gives me strength for my performances, reminds me of my heyday, how the Raj had eyes only for me...”

“And everything was fine?” Arthur hoped the question would lead Lady Helen back on track.

“Indeed it was,” Lady Helen said.

Arthur looked to Mr Jones. “It was, Inspector. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Arthur had a vague idea already as to what happened next but he needed the facts straight from the horse's mouth before he confirmed any theory he might be entertaining. “So what happened next?”

“I changed into my best gown,” Lady Helen said. “The grey one from Paris with the...”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Right.” Lady Helen walked over to the escritoire. “I locked the box and closed the drawer.”

“I gather the drawer was a secret one.” Arthur's father had had exactly such a desk. He'd used it to hide his most important paperwork. “One whose existence you couldn't guess at unless you knew about it.”

“Yes,” Lady Helen said, leaning over to demonstrate.

Arthur stopped her. “I'd rather you didn't touch anything yet.” He wanted a sketch artist on the case first. “But you were saying?”

“Since I don't trust any of my nasty maids only my secretary Jonas and I knew about the drawer. It--” She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I don't really know how the news of its existence could have got out.”

“What happened after you'd locked the Star of Madras up?”

“I had guests to attend, Inspector.” Lady Helen held her chin up. “My soirées are the most important of events.”

Arthur had no desire to contradict her. He just wanted to gather the facts. “And while you were entertaining, could anyone get access to the room?”

“The door to the boudoir and its antechamber were both locked by myself before the reception ever began,” Jonas Jones said.

Arthur added him to his mental list of suspects, though he had more than an inkling Jones wasn't the responsible one. Still, he had to act without preconceptions. “And was it guarded at all times?”

“Yes, it was,” Jones said. “I never left its vicinity.”

“All night?” Arthur's eyebrow rose. “Never for a moment?”

“Never for a moment.” Jonas shook his head.

Arthur doubted that but before he could vocalise his suspicion, Ranulf came in. “Apart from the main entrance all doors were locked: kitchen door, garden door, no one stole in or out.”

“According to the servants,” Arthur said.

“They all say no one could have walked past them,” Ranulf told him. “And I questioned them all.”

“Right. Yes. That's good to know.” This was not a discussion they could have in front of the victims of the crime, not unless they'd cleared the matter up and ascertained that they weren't in on it too. “Either way we will establish how the thief got in and out.”

“You must get to the bottom of this,” Lady Helen said. “You must find the Star.”

Arthur couldn't promise such things, especially the restitution of the jewel. While the apprehension of criminals wasn't so impossible, depending on their sloppiness, the recovery of stolen property was always a more challenging feat. The merchandise usually ended up having been fenced long before any arrest could be made. “You may rest assured, Lady Helen, that Scotland Yard will do its best to catch the thief.”

Arthur and Ranulf were halfway to the hansom awaiting them on Lady Helen's driveway, when Ranulf told him, “It's Midnight Dragon, isn't it? It's his modus operandi.” Gravel crunched under their feet. “No victims, locked room, clear getaway.”

An instinct Arthur was pushing him to answer that, yes, it was. There was such an effortlessness to the heist, such a simplicity of orchestration to it, no bloodshed, no witnesses, that suggested the culprit was indeed Midnight Dragon. But Arthur knew that in spite of the little thrill he felt at the notion the thief was indeed the man Scotland Yard had been after for so long, he shouldn't let himself be carried away. “We should not rush to any conclusions.”

“Come on, it's his signature,” Ranulf said, gesturing for the hansom driver to steer the vehicle over. “You know it's him. I can see it in your eyes.”

Arthur sighed, put a foot on the hansom's step and wrapped his hand around the handle. “I think it's him, yes. But I've been chasing him so long...”

“Three years.” Ranulf smiled a knowing smile.

Arthur nodded. “I could be imagining things just because I want it to be him.”

“It sounds almost romantic.” Ranulf huffed. “Going after the same man for three long years.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said Arthur, scowling as deeply as he could. What notions. He just wanted to see justice done and do his duty. He heaved himself into the hansom. “I only want to arrest him.”

Ranulf found a seat opposite Arthur's. “Yes, of course.” He kicked at Arthur's shin. “Tell yourself that.”

 

**** 

 

The Dorchester's lobby was rectangular, the roof capped by an opaque glass dome. Around a thick round pillar were arranged a series of lush velvet sofas. On it sat ladies in their best trim, gentlemen in their evening gear, and business people perusing the pages of financial journals.

Merlin was doing the same, The Times spread open before him, partially hiding his face. Merlin wasn't reading any of the articles, however. He wasn't brushing up on world news or stock trading. From behind the rim of his broadsheet, he was studying the man holding court right before him.

The man was smoking a cigar, gentlemen and ladies gathered around him. He was talking loudly, his voice thundering over that of the throng, holding onto the lapel of his jacket. “What Zambesia needs is strong leadership. For the British Empire to expand its presence within its borders.”

“Is that him?” Mordred whispered, elbowing him.

Merlin acted as though that elbow to the ribs hadn't hurt in the least, though the boy had grown stronger than he looked. “Yes, Mordred, it's him. Sir Constantin Colgrevance. Now lower your voice. We don't want to get his attention.”

Mordred lowered his head and pushed his lips together but it wasn't long before he said, “Because he's a bad guy.”

Mordred's world view was probably somewhat simplistic, but then again he was a child. Besides, in this particular case he wasn't that far off. “He's an agent of the British South Africa Company and an agitator.”

“What does that mean?” Mordred asked, eyebrows knitting together.

“He's a rabble rouser.” Merlin didn't know how to explain this to Mordred. He didn't want to dumb it down, but the politics of the crown in Africa were too complicated for a child to master. “He creates tension on purpose so the British can intervene.”

“And take the land for themselves?” Mordred guessed.

“Shrewd boy.” Merlin patted his shoulder. “Yes, Sir Constantin is thought to have had a hand in sparking the Matabele War.”

“And that's where he found the stones?” Mordred looked up, light in his eyes.

Sometimes Merlin wondered whether he was leading Mordred too far astray. “That's where he got the stones, yes.”

“And we're going to get them from him?” Mordred kicked at the sofa with the heel of his shoe.

Merlin raised his eyebrow at him.

“Yes. I get it.” Mordred grinned. “Quiet now.”

With a few bows and some hand kissing Sir Constantin excused himself for the night. Just as he disappeared into the cable car, Merlin nonchalantly stood and nodded at Mordred.

Mordred caught the signal and slipped out of the Dorchester's lobby.

Pulling at his cuffs and taking a big breath, Merlin made for the end of the salon. He took the first corridor to the left of it. It was carpeted and wall paper came up to elbow height. It came in flower patterns stitched in cream and crimson. From this corridor a few smaller rooms opened up, but Merlin ignored each one in turn and made for the door at the end of the passageway.

His palm flat on its grain, Merlin looked left and right, then pushed the door open. He entered a grey-washed hall that segued into a stairwell. At the base of it was the opening to the laundry chute.

When Merlin heard someone stomping down the stairs, he dashed for it. He slipped one leg in and then the other and levered himself down. But his feet couldn't find purchase and when Merlin looked down he found the shoot went deep, extending at least two floor downwards.

Ears tuned to the noises coming from the landing, Merlin clung to the metal rail. He knew how long he could stay in this position, holding up all his weight. For now he was safe, in his grace zone. His sinews did burn a little but it was nothing he couldn't weather. He had trained for this, after all. He wasn't improvising. With his slender build he may not have looked like a fairground strongman, but he had enough muscle power to see him through the job. Any job.

When the noise in the stairwell died down, Merlin lifted himself out of the chute. After he'd brushed himself down, he took the stairs up. First floor, second floor, third floor. Merlin pulled open a heavy metal door that swung inwards on its hinges and found himself in a narrow carpeted corridor.

His footfalls hushed, he counted doors under his breath. He'd just located number 305 when he heard the sound of wheels snagging on woven fabric.

Merlin dived behind a corner and watched a black clad, wide shouldered bellhop push a cart forward.

The bellhop knocked on door 305. “Room Service”

Sir Constantin opened the door in his shirt sleeves, his bow tie undone. “I haven't ordered anything”

“I was told to bring this up, sir,” the bellhop said, coughing into his fist, his voice low and rough as if he had chest congestion. “I suppose it's from management, sir, with compliments.”

“Well, it must be because of the complaint I lodged--” Sir Constantin flung the door wider open. “It was high time.”

The bellhop pushed the cart into Sir Constantin's room. The door snicked closed.

The partition wall offering cover, Merlin stayed put and waited.

And waited some more. He took out his pocket watch and watched the hand tick onwards. At last, when five minutes had passed, the bellhop came out, his head down.

Had the dressing down of the century, had you, Merlin thought. He listened until the sound of wheels on carpet died down. With the corridor once again empty of people, Merlin set out to wait.

Calculating Sir Constantin would take his time dining and changing for the night, Merlin let two hours tick by, then walked to 305 and stuck a pick in the lock.

He turned it clockwise and then counter-clockwise, listening for any clicks, feeling for some yield.

From then on he went at it on a trial and error pattern, angling the pick and pressing upwards with it, feeling the individual pins shift and move. With a few flicks of his wrist he pushed them upwards. A crack. The pins sprang back.

The door slid open. Wary of the creaking of hinges, Merlin made sure to push it lightly. He stepped into the entry hall, the open door to the bathroom visible on one side. He moved forwards. A small salon came next. Two plush sofas faced a low table on which a few French magazines were scattered. A low dresser stood on thick legs, a cabinet at its side.

Merlin made for it, opened it. Between one shelf and the next sat the safe. It was open, nothing was inside it. Had Sir Constantin moved them? Merlin turned, studied the room again for potential nooks and crannies offering hiding places. Then something occurred to him. The light was on in this room and so was the one in the bedroom.

A shiver ran down Merlin's spine as he stepped towards the bedroom.

Sir Constantin lay on the bed, his eyes glazed, his mouth open. He was still in the clothes he had been wearing downstairs, minus his dinner jacket. A dark stain spread across his waistcoat in a round pattern. His shirt, elsewhere pristine, was spattered with blood at the chest and collar.

With a hand before his mouth, Merlin sank onto his knees. He sobbed into his palm, cold lapping at his extremities. For long moments he couldn't act. His thoughts scrambled, became incoherent. He had seen death once before, and with it had come pain and loneliness, but it was nothing like this.

This was a violent death. It was in the smell of gun powder that still laced the air and in the rictus on Sir Constantin's face.

Trembling, his legs hollow, Merlin pulled himself up. He strode to the bed, closed Sir Constantin's eyes, turned off the lights and left the room.

Making himself go at a slow pace, he padded down corridors, acknowledged two guests that were returning from a night out with a little head tilt, then took the stairs. With as much nonchalance as he could master, he strode across the hotel lobby.

He walked at the same pace – steady, one two, one two – until he turned the corner.

Then he jumped onto the hackney, sinking in the coachman seat next to Mordred.

“So did you get it?” Mordred said as he whipped the horses into a trot. He was smiling from ear to ear. “Did you?”

“No.” Merlin pursed his mouth. “Someone got there first and killed Sir Constantin in the bargain.”

“Oh that's tough. No diamonds. But it doesn't matter about Sir Constantin, right?” Mordred asked him, tugging on the reins to ease the hackney into a bigger thoroughfare. “He was a bad man.”

Sometimes Mordred scared Merlin. Even though he was doing it out of wide, innocent eyes, he was still advocating the death of a man. “Murder is always wrong, Mordred.”

Mordred's eyebrows pulled together. “I suppose you're right.”

“I am.” Merlin stared at Mordred, hoping he could bore the notion into his skull. “Nothing justifies murder.”

Mordred nodded. “All right.”

“Is it?” Merlin sought Mordred's gaze. “Do you understand why?”

“Because you said it's wrong.” Mordred guided the hackney southwards. “And you don't do it.”

Merlin would have to discuss this with Mordred later, when they had time and weren't on the run from a crime scene. For now all he said was, “Right.”

“So what now?” Mordred stuck his tongue out as he negotiated a narrow turn.

“Now we find out who killed Sir Constantin.” Merlin ignored the face Mordred was making. “Then we fence the Star of Madras and cut loose.”

****

 

Arthur turned on his feet, allowing himself one last view of the room as it was, before allowing the corpse to be put on a gurney.

“You're thinking what I'm thinking,” Ranulf told him. “This was Midnight Dragon's doing. He changed his modus operandi.”

Arthur hummed under his breath, frowned at the crime scene, but said nothing. He didn't want to.

“I mean it's him,” Ranulf continued, waving his hands at the room, at the constables carting the body outside. “Clean entry, high profile target, a smooth exit.” Ranulf grimaced. “Only this time it got out of hand and he killed his mark.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “No, it can't be him. Three years and he's never hurt anyone before.” Three years, never a victim, no one even to complain of a black eye. “It's just not how he operates.”

“Until now.” Ranulf nodded at the blood spatters on the bed. “I wanted to believe in the myth of a gentleman burglar myself but we must face the facts.”

His instinct told Arthur that that this was wrong, that Midnight Dragon couldn't be behind the murder of Sir Constantin. It sat wrong with him, made his heart ache to think it might be true. He'd spent years analysing the man's tactics, his habits, building a picture of him in his mind. And that wasn't the picture of a murderer. But Ranulf was right, they needed to consider the situation as it was. They had a corpse on their hands. “You're right, Ranulf, you're right.”

 

****

 

“This is everything I could find.” Mordred deposited a pile of newspapers on the table. “I bought a copy of all the big ones.”

Merlin stared at the mound and his shoulders went down. “Well, I suppose there's nothing for it but to roll up our sleeves.”

Mordred pouted. “I don't like reading. I'm still too slow. Not as fast as you anyway.”

“There's nothing like practice.” Merlin pulled the bulk of the pile towards him. “Chop, chop.”

Mordred grabbed the newspaper on top. “But why are we doing this? Why aren't we letting the police deal with the killer?”

“Because the person who got to Sir Constantin first committed a crime,” Merlin said. “You see, what we do...” He twisted his lips. “I know it it's illegal. But we have a code, right?”

“We only pretend to be bad people,” Mordred said, nodding thoughtfully. “And we make sure never to hurt anyone.”

“Exactly.” Merlin was aware that perhaps he was treading a fine moral line himself, but some rules had to count. “And this person didn’t pretend, they used violence to get to their ends.”

“So we're going to help the police now.” Mordred frowned at the paper open before him.

“We're not going to walk in there and give them tips.” Merlin wasn't as naive as that. “But if we find the real culprit. We can gently nudge them towards him.”

“So why the papers?” Mordred wasn't too keen on them, it seemed. “Can't we just look for this person on the streets?”

Mordred wouldn't be doing that, but Merlin would. “Yes. But we need to know more about Sir Constantin.”

“But you already did that.” Mordred flared his eyes. “When we set up the Sir Constantin sting.”

“We only researched his past and habits,” Merlin said. “Now we're looking for murder motives.”

“Oh.” Mordred puffed out his cheeks.

“So I want you to look out for anything suspicious.”

“Will do,” said Mordred, bending his head over his assigned paper with a sigh.

Vowing he'd find the real culprit somehow, Merlin did the same.

 

*****

Ink smudging the side of the page, Arthur finished typing off the report. He was about to give his last sentence a re-read, when Ranulf knocked on the door of his office. “Are you awfully busy?”

“No,” Arthur said, pulling the paper out of the typewriter. “As a matter of fact I'm nearly finished.”

“In which case,” said Ranulf, “I would like you to talk to someone.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

Ranulf scratched at his chin. “It's one of the Dorchester guests, Lady Elayne Garlot. She says she ran into a man on her way to her room sometime after Sir Constantin was killed.”

“And she thinks it's the murderer?” Arthur frowned until his brow hooded his eyes.

“Indeed.” Ranulf toyed with the door handle. “There's a chance she saw Midnight Dragon himself.”

“Let Lady Elayne in.” Arthur wanted to hear what she had to say. He wanted to have all the facts so he could sort them out himself. Then and only then would he formulate an opinion on this. “We shouldn't keep a lady waiting.”

Ranulf smiled, saluted and exited.

Lady Elayne was brown haired and pale skinned. She had deep set eyes and a thoughtful expression. She was dressed in a sober brown silk gown that narrowed at the hips and then flared outwards. She stepped into Arthur's office with a hesitant air.

Ranulf took a seat in a corner chair, while Arthur stood, bowed and kissed her hand.

With a rustling of fabric, she sat opposite Arthur, the desk between them. “Inspector.”

“Lady Elayne,” Arthur resumed his seat. “They tell me you have something for us.”

“Indeed.” Lady Elayne nodded. “At first I thought it was nothing, but then I read an article in the newspaper and realised it might be something.”

“Please.” Arthur waved his palm about. “Do tell us.”

She inclined her head. “My father and I are lodging at the Dorchester for the time being. He has room 310 and I have room 312. The night of the murder--”

“The thirteenth, you mean.”

“That is the day.” She wetted her lips. “Anyway, my father and I were returning from a dinner reception and we run into this man.” Her brow wrinkled as she spoke. “He was tall, slim, I dare say young. He was emerging from the other end of the hallway, where I'm told the room Sir Constantin occupied is.”

“What makes you think this man could be Sir Constantin's murderer?”

Ranulf made big eyes at him and mimed the words at him, “Earl's daughter.”

Aristocrat or not, Lady Elayne took Arthur in stride. “At first nothing did. But then I went back over the memory and...” She tipped her head to the side. “While he acknowledged my father and me, there was something haunted about his eyes. There was some kind of tension in his face that didn't belong in the situation. So when I read that the murder had taken place between seven and ten, I connected the dots.”

“I see,” Arthur said. “Was there no other give away?” He wanted to ask whether the lady had seen any traces of blood on the suspect's clothing. But he'd rather she mention any further details on her own without any pressure on his part. “Anything else you can remember?”

“His clothes were of the latest fashion,” Lady Elayne said. “He looked well put together. I would never have guessed he was anything other than a hotel guest if hadn't known of the murder."

“So a gentleman, then?” Arthur had always thought Midnight Dragon wasn't, couldn't be. A gentleman would never steal. But he'd always known that he managed to get in and out of social events without being noticed. Which meant he was at least good at passing, at disguising himself.

“Most assuredly.”

“Is there anything else you remember?” Arthur said. “Anything that might be construed as him having taken part in a violent crime?”

“You mean blood?” Lady Elayne said, lifting an eyebrow. “No, there was nothing on him.”

“Well.” Arthur rearranged some of the papers on his desk. “That'll be all from me, Lady Elayne. I'll have to ask one further favour of you though. We have sketch artists here at the Yard. I'd be grateful if you could describe the man you saw to them.”

“But of course.” Lady Elayne stood. “It's nothing but my duty.”

Arthur rose too. “My colleague will escort you, Lady Elayne.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “Thank you for your collaboration.”

“Inspector.”

When Ranulf returned it was without Lady Elayne. “She's with the artist now.”

“Let's hope we get some viable piece of identification then.”

“We can only trust in her memory.” Ranulf sat in the chair Lady Elayne had left vacant. “I still chalk it all down to being a good day's work.”

At the reminder they'd been at this for a while, Arthur stretched his shoulders. “Yes. Indeed.”

“So--” Ranulf drummed his fingers on his knees. “--how about calling it a day?”

“Yes.” Arthur would have to sign a few documents, make sure all the paperwork was present and correct, but then he supposed he was free to go. “Yes. Not a bad idea actually.”

Ranulf pushed to his feet. “Then why don't you have dinner with us?”

Arthur hummed. “I wouldn't want to put Freya out.”

“Nonsense. Where there's enough for two there's enough for three,” Ranulf said with a smile and shrug. “Besides she'll be overjoyed to have you with us. It's been a while.”

Arthur considered the offer. There was nothing at home to entice him. But he still had to think of Freya. “Ranulf, I cannot help but think it would be too taxing for her.”

“She doesn't want to be treated like an invalid, you know.” Ranulf searched Arthur's gaze. “And she does consider you a friend. Just the other day she was saying how much she missed you.”

In the face of that Arthur could not nothing but capitulate.

The house Ranulf and Freya lived in was in Hendon. It lay between Finchley Lane and Victoria Road and it stood in a row of terraced brick buildings that were very similar in character. Narrow, dark, crowded. The only difference lay in its state of utter cleanliness, with the door newly painted and the carefully swept steps. In that respect, it was completely unlike the neighbouring houses, with their peeling off paint, rusty balusters, and grimy doorways.

Freya had a radiant smile on her face when she saw them. It was only a quirk of the lips really, but it lit up her whole face. In spite of it, though, she looked wan. Her skin was so papery and translucent Arthur could trace the pattern of her veins on her skin. They stood out thin and blue at her temples, and purple at her wrists. Her cheeks were hollow and her bones stood out. Arthur almost regretted adding to her burdens by coming, when she hugged him, pulled him inside and said, “Oh Arthur, it's such a pleasure to see you. Come, come inside.”

Ranulf went from gazing fondly at Freya to telling Arthur, “See, I told you so.”

While Ranulf stoked the fire in the fireplace, Arthur helped Freya set the table. “You really shouldn't, you know. You're the guest.”

“I'm truly happy to help.”

Hugging a stack of plates, Freya stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You're such a gentleman, Arthur.”

Ranulf stirred the fire with the poker until small flames began to dance along the top of the log, and said, “It helps that, unlike myself, Arthur is a real gentleman born and bred.”

Freya laid the forks. “I was talking about a different sort of gentlemanliness, Ranulf, about honour, uprightness and chivalry.”

Ranulf stayed on his haunches but turned a fraction. “And that doesn't apply to me, does it?” He smiled softly at Freya. “Alas, you married an uncouth rough from Seven Dials.”

“Don't mind him, Arthur,” Freya said, hands on hips, but gaze gentle. “He wants to be told I love him for the tenth time today.”

“I contest that number.” Ranulf pulled himself to his feet. “I'm sure it wasn't ten.”

“Oh, Ranulf. I do love you so much.” She kissed his cheek. “There you go.”

They ate a dinner of pork scratchings and potatoes that Freya served on chipped plates. The portions were small and the meat was hard but the sauce was flavourful.

Even so, Freya said, “I'm sorry I couldn't offer you anything more special.”

“This is excellent, Freya.” He made a point of raking up a forkful and eating it. “Besides, I was a last minute guest.”

“Still, I would have liked to give you a treat,” Freya said, tugging at the hem of the table cloth. “I promise I'll whip up something special next time.”

Head down, Ranulf said, “Arthur understands, dear.”

Freya chewed on her lips. “I'll make you something special for Christmas. We'll have capon and sweetmeats!”

“I'll be looking forward to it,” Arthur said.

They ate on in silence for a while, even the scrape of cutlery muted. Then over the coffee, Freya said, “So what case are you two working on?”

Ranulf shook his head at him.

“Um.” Arthur licked his lips. “In some ways it's an old one.”

Freya put the steaming coffee pot down. “What, that's it? You're you leaving it at that! I can gather more from the rags, you know.”

Ranulf had his head down and his lips pursed while Freya looked searchingly at him.

Arthur didn't know what to say. It was clear she wanted to know and it was equally obvious Ranulf didn't want her to. “I--”

“Oh that's it, isn't it?” Freya swivelled her hand from one to the other. “You've made some kind pact about not telling me!” Her nostrils flared. “Because I'm too fragile. Is that it? The poor--” She started coughing, a deep cough that seemed to come from deep in her lungs. “The poor--” She brought her hand to her mouth and specks of blood appeared on her fingers.

Ranulf rushed to her with a napkin. “Here, here,” he said, massaging her back. “It will soon pass.”

“I--” Freya said, but she only coughed some more.

“Is there anything I can do?” Arthur searched the room for clues. “Perhaps a glass of water?”

“I don't think she's up to it now,” Ranulf told him. “I'll take her upstairs.”

Ranulf walked his wife out of the room, his face drawn, her body languid as she leant against him.

Arthur sank back in a chair, gazing emptily at the table spread, at the remains of the food, the dregs of their coffee. It seemed as though time had stopped or someone had taken him out of it. The only reminder of that not being the case was given by the constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.

At length, after Arthur had paced around awhile and then seated himself again, Ranulf reappeared. “I've given her some laudanum. She's asleep now.”

“If there's anything I can do,” Arthur said, even though he had no idea how he could help. “Just tell me what and I will do it.”

Ranulf sighed. “Unfortunately, there's precious little you can do. There's no cure.”

“No, I know, but...” He trailed off.

“And the kind of attention she requires--” Ranulf bowed his head. “-- is of another nature entirely. I mean to take her to the South of France, where it's warmer and she doesn't have to fight this damp climate, but it's not so easy.”

“That's going to be expensive.” Arthur didn't think France could be anything but. “And what about your job?”

“I'll see this case to a close.” Ranulf shrugged. “Then... I suppose I'll get to it when I get to it.”

Arthur strode over to Ranulf, clasped his biceps. “Whatever happens, I want you to know that I'm with you on this.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Ranulf gulped. “That... that means a lot.”

 

**** 

 

Merlin crowded his mark and pulled him into an alley. “A word, if you please, Mr de Maris.”

De Maris tried to shrug him off, but Merlin pinned him to the wall. “If it's my wallet you want, you'll have to fight for it.”

Merlin's lips thinned. “I don't want your money. I want to know why you're in London.”

“What!” De Maris spluttered; his eyes went wide. “Am I dealing with a madman?”

“No, madman,” Merlin said, tightening his grip. “I'm looking for the murderer of Sir Constantin Colgrevance.”

De Maris stopped struggling. “And you think it was me!”

“I think you had cause.”

De Maris laughed out loud. “I had cause, that's right.” His face hardened, the scars at his temple and jaw tightening in thin ridges of pale skin. “But I didn't kill him. My honour wouldn't have allowed me to.”

This wasn't possible. De Maris had every reason to wish Colgrevance dead. “Then why are you in London at all?”

“To talk with a member of the Native Affairs Department.”

Merlin stepped back. “I don't believe you.”

De Maris didn't run. “Feel free.”

“You hated Sir Constantin,” Merlin said, feeling sure he had hit the nail on the head. “Word on the street is you wanted him gone.”

“Yes! That is true.” De Maris' eyes flashed. “But let me tell you a story. I was an officer in Fort Umtali. Sir Constantin was my superior. I knew what his job description was. I knew what he did. But the last straw for me was the Fort Victoria massacre.”

Merlin had gathered what he could from the papers, had even consulted old ones at the national library, but even so he couldn't call himself well versed in the details of a war he hadn't taken part in, especially not when public opinion was often wilfully kept in the dark about goings-on abroad. “The Fort Victoria massacre?”

“Let's just say that Sir Constantin's people had a hand in the massacre,” de Maris said, eyes and tone sharpening.

“You mean he caused it?” Merlin was not naive enough to think an agitator would not do those things. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” De Maris nodded sharply. “They convinced the Mashonas to steal Matabele cattle. The Mashonas hid in Fort Victoria. The Matabele predictably retaliated and... They were held responsible for the massacre that followed.”

“One that was fully orchestrated.”

“Yes.” De Maris's expression eased from anger to wariness. “At the time I was somewhat naive, one might say, and thought I could do something to make war more ethical. So I reported him.”

“But it was in the interests of the crown to shield Sir Constantin.” Merlin could guess what had happened next.

“He was showered in money and honours,” De Maris said, his mouth twisting with distaste. “I was unofficially reprimanded. I thought that was the end of that but, of course, it wasn't.”

“That's where the Boers come in, isn't it?” Though the publicly available information was scant and certainly didn't connect the two events, Merlin had read about this chapter of de Maris' life. It had been the reason why de Maris' return to London had caused enough of a stir for the papers to mention him.

De Maris bobbed his head, a haunted look drifting into his eyes. “Dear old Sir Constantin purposefully left me behind on a reconnaissance mission. Dumped me in the hands of a pack of angry Boers. They threw me into prison. Three years I spent there. It wasn't easy.”

What he was hearing ought to have convinced Merlin that de Maris' hatred for Sir Constantin had been motive enough for a killing. Sir Constantin had, after all, been the cause of de Maris's sufferings. Most would contemplate revenge in that situation. But there was something about de Maris, about the light in his eyes, shining clear and true, and the cloak of dignity he'd wrapped around himself that told Merlin this man was no cold blooded killer. But if it wasn't him, then who had done it? “You're telling me you have nothing to do with Sir Constantin's death?”

“Nothing.” De Maris eyes flared, a challenge in them. “And you know it too.”

Merlin stepped back, his soles skimming the putrid water of a puddle. His shoulders slumped. “If not you, then who?”

“What do you care?” De Maris said. “The man doesn't deserve any justice anyway. He was an amoral scoundrel.”

“I do care.” Merlin could still see the corpse every time he closed his eyes. “And everyone deserves justice. Even scoundrels like him.”

De Maris' head snapped up. “Perhaps you're right.” His nostrils widened with an intake of breath. “Perhaps Sir Constantin ruined me in more fundamental ways than I could have imagined.” He paused. “Look into his mistresses.”

“What?” Merlin's brow furrowed.

“His mistresses.” de Maris snorted. “He disappointed more than one. Was involved in shady dealings with plenty.”

“What kind of dealings?”

De Maris pushed off the wall and straightened his clothing. “That will be for you to find out.”

Merlin wanted to ask more questions, but he could see that de Maris was done with him. So before he could clear the alley, Merlin called out, “Thank you.”

De Maris walked off without a word.

 

**** 

“Sir!” The Constable jogged down the stairs. “There's someone to see you.”

“Someone?” Arthur asked, stopping mid climb.

“An informer, sir.” The Constable rubbed his moustache. “Goes by the name Snoker Cedric. He says he has something about the Sir Constantin case.”

Arthur wasn't sure Snoker Cedric would turn out to be a reliable witness but he couldn't pass over any information that got him closer to arresting the person behind the murder. “Right, thank you.”

Snoker Cedric was a small, lean man with greasy hair and a bedraggled moustache. He smelled of alcohol and sweat but his clothes were new and of good make. They ranged from sturdy trousers to a fine linen shirt adorned with a thick watch chain, to patent leather shoes.

“So,” Arthur said, walking into the interrogation room. It was small and spare with a long table placed across it and a few chairs dotted around it, “what have you got for me, Cedric?”

“It very much depends on what you have for me, guv.”

“Don't stretch your luck.” Arthur crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows.

“Your colleague always has a little something for me.” Cedric twisted his lips first one way than the other. “I've always found that helps to jog my memory.”

Had Ranulf been so naive as to set that precedent? Either way it didn't matter. It wasn't going to change what Arthur was about to do. “I could send you to jail and see if that loosens your tongue.”

“I've done nuthin'!” Cedric pushed both hands up in the air, his eyes as wide as a lemur's. “You can't send me to prison.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Want to test me, Cedric?”

Cedric must have thought that it was not worth it, because he sank into a chair, shoulders down, and started speaking. “I have news about the bloke that killed the gent at the Dorchester.”

“What sort of news?”

“He was seen in the West End,” said Cedric. “He was asking questions.”

Arthur's eyebrows knitted. “Wait, wait, you'll have to slow down. How can you tell it's him?”

“The sketch that was published in the papers,” Cedric was quick to answer. “It was the same man.”

Arthur wasn't sure how reliable this information was. He'd seen plenty of ID sketches and one resembled the other to the point many men might fit it. “That's not much to go on, Cedric.”

“Well, there's more,” Cedric said, eyes gleaming. “The man's been asking particular questions.”

Now this was slightly more unusual. “What type of questions?”

Cedric leant closer to Arthur's, eyes so wide he looked deranged. “About the people lurking around the Dorchester. About whoever had it in for the gent.”

This, however, made no sense at all. “He was asking questions about the murder?”

“Indeed. Rumour has it in the slums, he's investigating.” Cedric smirked. “If you want my opinion you've got the wrong man.”

“What?” Arthur blinked.

“No self-respecting murderer,” said Cedric, looking too much like someone who was quite experienced in that area, “would go back to the scene of the crime.”

“You'd be surprised.” There were those who went back to gloat and those who returned because they harboured a secret wish to be caught. Arthur had sent both types to the nick. “Thoroughly so.”

“Then why was he spotted asking questions around?” Cedric tipped up an eyebrow. “He pestered so many people in the right places that he got noticed. Nah, if you ask me I think he's trying to find the man who did the deed.”

Arthur took a moment to consider Cedric's idea. It was absurd. Preposterous. And yet it did match his idea of who Midnight Dragon was. Still, this didn't mean Cedric was right or that he had anything at all. “Well, luckily I'm not relying on you for case solving.”

“Maybe not,” Cedric told him, buffing his nails on his jacket. “But try and tell me I haven't helped.”

Arthur couldn't. This was valuable information, after all, but he wasn't going to admit as much to the likes of Snoker Cedric. “Your contribution hasn't been entirely irrelevant, but it's hardly changed the facts of the inquest.”

“You owe me something!” said Cedric with as much outrage as if Arthur had forced him to turn rat. “I gave you precious info!”

“Right.” Arthur clenched his teeth. “Let's put it this way. Call yourself lucky I'm not arresting you for extortion.”

“But, but, but--”

“You've been warned.”

“Come on, guv, you owe me!”

“Two words.” Arthur held up his fingers. “Coldbath Fields.”

“That's hardly fair! You can't send me to prison for helping!”

Arthur left the room before Cedric could add anything else.

 

***** 

 

The building was elegant, genteel, with ample sash windows, and Corinthian columns encasing the door. Flower beds bracketed the white façade. A brass knocker in the shape of a lion adorned the entrance.

Merlin held the flowers up and rapped the knocker against the door twice.

Nothing happened. Birds chattered in the trees that lined the street and down the road a dog barked. “Right.” Merlin was about to knock again when a lady opened. She was wearing a light grey morning dress and her hair sat on top of her head in a rain of blond curls.

“Vivian Kingsley?” Merlin asked.

“Yes,” she said, her gaze sweeping up and down Merlin's body. “That's me. Why?”

Merlin pushed the flowers into her hands. They were so fresh they released a cloud of scent. “These are for you.”

“For me?” She held them up to her nose and inhaled their fragrance. “Who are they from?”

“Sir Constantin.” 

Miss Kingsley blanched. “It's impossible. It's utterly... He's dead.”

“He booked a delivery on the day he died,” Merlin said. “His last thought was of you.”

Miss Kinglsey paled, bit her lip, and clutched the flower's stems tight. Then her face hardened. “We didn't part on those terms. He can't have.”

“But he did,” Merlin said, studying Miss Kingsley closely for reactions. “He must have changed his mind.”

“No. He didn't.” It was a snap of a statement accompanied by the flashing of eyes. “Our differences were irreconcilable.”

“Because you wanted to quit the business,” Merlin said, raising an eyebrow, “and he didn't want you to.”

Miss Kingsley made a double take and her eyes narrowed. “So you know about that.” Her knuckles whitened around the bouquet. “It doesn't matter though, for it's not something I wish to discuss.”

“But maybe the police will want to.” Merlin didn't specify how he'd pull that off. Miss Kingsley didn't know about Merlin's quandary as regarded the police and didn't need to. “I'm sure they'll be interested.”

Miss Kinglsey opened the door wider. “Come inside.”

The house was bright and airy. White predominated. The curtains were pale white lace, the flowers in the vases that decorated the tables were the same colour, and so was the wainscoting.

Miss Kingsley led Merlin into the drawing room. In a swish of clothing she turned around and gestured for him to take a seat on the low sofa. Once Merlin had positioned himself, she crossed her arms and said, “You have five minutes.”

Merlin knew she wouldn't yield an inch on that score, so he hastened to speak the words he'd come to say. “You were Sir Constantin's mistress.”

Miss Kinglsey smiled. “Yes, but as far as I know the police don't concern themselves with affairs of the heart.”

“They don't.” Nobody could deny that and Merlin most certainly wasn't. To make her talk, he'd need to earn her respect; show her they were on the same level. “But they would care a little if they knew your relationship with him involved a little blackmail.”

Miss Kingsley snorted. “You have no proof.”

So she wasn't denying it, was she. “I'm sure that with enough digging, the right word in the right person's ear, the facts would emerge.”

“What facts?” She tipped her chin up. “There are no facts.”

“Isn't it true that you helped Sir Constantin frame his enemies?” Merlin was quite sure of his facts by now but he needed to see how she reacted to them. “Didn't you flirt with them, walk them home or to their hotel rooms, get a compromising photograph, which you'd then use it to extort money from them?”

“I may have entertained a few gentlemen in the most innocent of manners, and there may have been a kiss or two, but that's not illegal.”

“That part isn't.” They both knew it and Miss Kinglsey was merely trifling with him by going for that line of defence. “It got illegal once Sir Constantin stepped in and used the information you obtained to twist the arms of his political rivals, of his enemies.”

Miss Kingsley turned her face away.

“But you didn't want to do it anymore, did you?” Merlin went with the feel of it, the vibes he got from Miss Kinglsey. “Did you tell him so?”

“I did nothing improper!” Miss Kingsley said, eyes wide with outrage. “A kiss here or there, a few lascivious words, some batting of the eyelashes. I led them on. But I couldn't any longer. I didn't want to deceive anyone anymore.”

“So,” Merlin said, “to make sure you wouldn't have to do it again you killed him.”

Miss Kinglsey laughed. “That really makes no sense, you know. I was trying to set my life on a more honest path. No more blackmail. No more lies. Do you really think I would have done something infinitely worse just to ease my conscience on the first score?”

“Some people believe the end justifies the means,” Merlin said, pinning Miss Kingsley with his gaze. “The question is: are you one of those people?”

“Of course not!” Her eyes flashed. “I've grown to hate the business Constantin involved me in, but I didn't hate him.”

“And yet someone killed him.”

“It most certainly wasn't me,” said Miss Kingsley. “I'm appalled by crime.”

Was she really, Merlin wondered. Or had she committed her last one so she could be free of the shackles of her alliance with Sir Constantin? “Then who's done it?”

“Plenty of people disliked him.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“All right, you want names. How about his wife, Nimueh? Or late King Lobengula's personal guard? I heard one of his izindunas is in town. I wonder why.”

“You mean one of his officers?” Merlin asked.

“Yes.” Miss Kingsley picked up a stray petal. “There's a story making the rounds. Of Lobengula's treasure, the one he used to buy off Forbes.”

“What kind of story is this?” Merlin had never heard of it. Some items of news hadn't made it back to England.

“It's a state secret.”

“And yet you know of it.”

Miss Kinglsey sighed. “Of course I know some of it. Constantin talked a lot. Ask Lobengula's Izinduna about the gold that was used to buy off the British. The government never got it.”

“Oh.” This meeting with Miss Kingsley was helping Merlin dig up facts he could never otherwise have come to know. “That's... interesting. But I'm not sure that clears your name.”

“Then report me to the police.” Miss Kinglsey lifted one shoulder. “I'm not stopping you.”

That, more than the reference to the Lobengula plot, convinced Merlin he was barking up the wrong tree. He couldn't prove it though, so he rose. “I'll be going then.”

She didn't move.

Merlin walked past her.

Miss Kinglsey turned her head just a little. “For what it matters, I want the person who killed Constantin arrested too.”

Merlin nodded.

“Good day.”

Thoughts churning fast, Merlin jogged down the steps of Miss Kingsley's house, when a voice caught his attention.

“Excuse me, sir.” The man – blond, somewhat buff though not in the way of gymnasts as in that of the naturally broad-shouldered – tapped his pocket watch against his palm and walked towards him. “Could you tell me what time it is? I'm afraid my watch just stopped.”

Merlin really wanted to get gone, seek a quiet place where he could think about what he'd just been told and contemplate his next move, but the man had sounded really polite and was smiling nicely, his lips cast in a slightly self-deprecating twist that Merlin found arresting. There was nothing for it. “Um, yes.” Merlin dug his time piece from his pocket. It was gold, with a round battered case, and a scratched quadrant. It was Merlin's first successful pickpocketing. “It's five to fi--”

“I'm afraid it doesn't matter anymore,” the man said, closing one end of a handcuff around Merlin's wrist. “I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Sir Constantin Colgrevance.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Merlin should have been more cautious; he should have watched his own back better. “I'm sorry, you must have the wrong person.”

“I hardly think so,” the plain-clothes policeman – for that was what he had to be – said. “We have you identified, you know.”

“I see.” Merlin smiled faintly. “If you just give me a minute, I'm sure I'll be able to clear it all up.”

The policeman closed the other end of the manacle around his own wrist. “Yes. I'm sure. For now you're following me to the police station though.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, putting on as cheerful a face as he could muster. “I suppose I might as well.”

The policeman squinted at him in a disbelieving fashion, then shook his head, and started herding Merlin forward. A black police van drawn by two scrawny horses was waiting at the other end of the street, obscured by the shadow of a tree cluster. Its driver was wearing a constable uniform with battered epaulettes and holding the reins at the ready.

“Which station would that be?” Merlin started again, while he wriggled his fingers around to test the handcuff's yield. “Would it be far?”

“I don't think you're in a position to ask any questions.” The policeman herded him forward by the elbow.

The handcuffs didn't give. Merlin was now sure that the only way he was going to get them off was to either cut them in half with vice grips or force them open with a hammer. Since he had neither tool and no time to tinker either, he knew what came next. Just to be positive he tugged at the chain one more time and when nothing happened he prepared for the next move. Well, it wasn't as if he hadn't been through this before. 

Closing his eyes, he went to work on his thumb. He pushed and yanked at it, twisting the bone, causing it to strain within the joint. Each pull sent waves of pain at him, worked a sense of nausea into his stomach, but he didn't let himself stop. He couldn't. “I think every citizen is entitled to ask those questions,” Merlin said in as merry a tone as he could master. “Especially in the face of such an arrest. It's your duty as an officer of the law to provide me with those answers.”

“All in due time.” The policeman shepherded him across the street.

Merlin pushed down on a wave of pain, clenched his teeth, and wrenched the bone all the way out of joint. He waited for a carriage to turn into the street, slipped out of the cuff, and pushed off at a run.

He jumped over the oncoming carriage's footboard, climbed past the coachman, leaped on the other side and tore off running. His hand hurt like hell but he couldn't dwell on it. He focused on pumping his legs forwards and on putting distance between himself and the pursuing policeman instead.

There was a loud whistle and somebody shouted, “Stop that man!”

None of the people on the street, however, impeded Merlin’s flight, nor did they try and check his progress.

For his part Merlin sprinted, twisting into alleys and working his body past throngs of people. He did not slow down, not even when he barked his shin or rammed his elbow against solid stone. His pace paid off. As he rounded a bend, he saw with a backwards glance that the policeman was losing ground. Now if he could only think ahead, plan, then he was sure he could shake his tail off.

If he kept on these broad streets, there was a fair chance the policeman at his heels would catch up with him. If that didn't happen something far worse might. Some law-abiding citizen might take it into their heads to stop him. Merlin didn't want that. The police were one thing, civilians quite another. Merlin needed to get himself elsewhere. He needed to get himself home.

 

****

Arthur sped up after Midnight Dragon. He'd rather it hadn't come to this, but he supposed this was his punishment for being taken in, for thinking his quarry would behave meekly and walk with him all the way to the police station without raising any objection. He'd bought the man's confused act hook, line and sinker. Well, never mind that, he would never make the same assumption again. More, he finally knew what Dragon looked like. 

As he sprinted after him, Arthur noted that Dragon was fast and relentless. He'd been running for the past ten minutes and he wasn't showing a sign of flagging. His pace was the same as when he'd started and his occasional bursts forward were as powerful as they'd been in the very beginning.

It was immaterial. Though his lungs were starting to punish him, Arthur didn't mean to let his quarry go. No, he was actually closing in on him. There had to be a mere one hundred yards between them. Now if Arthur put his everything into the race, he could get him. One long stretch was looming ahead, enough for Arthur to overtake his quarry.

Alas, they came upon a junction. Three different side streets originated from it, a narrow one, a fairly large one, and a twisting one. Midnight Dragon kept to the middle of the lane until at the last possible moment, then cut left, sending a few people tumbling in his wake.

Arthur didn’t hesitate; he dashed after him.

They were both running at full tilt now. Arthur's heart was going double time and his momentum was the main force getting him forward. He put all his energy into the chase because he knew that if he lost Dragon now, he was done. If Midnight Dragon was alerted to the fact the police were on him he would stop doing whatever he'd been doing and vanish into thin air. Never, likely enough, to be found again.

The street narrowed. Passers-by stared, cursed, slid into doorways to avoid colliding with them, and generally kept out of the way. Arthur did not cry out. Partly because he was winded, partly because they had left Aldgate behind for a nastier neighbourhood.

They were in fact entering the realm of Spitalfields' back alleys. They were black and noisome, rank with the smell of open sewers and gin shops. Houses huddled together, with no allowance for light, their doors and window frames rotten, the glass invariably missing. The cobblestones were sticky with mud and slime, streaked with foul detritus, oftentimes riddled with potholes.

Arthur had to slow down several times so as not to trip up and lose Dragon.

Dark, silent, shadows crept by him. Women with black-rimmed eyes jostled him, their pallid faces popping by in the light of random gas lamps. They looked like so many ghosts, they unnerved Arthur. Men with sunken cheeks crowded him.

Elbowing his way forward, Arthur pushed ahead, but he could scarcely see Dragon anymore. He was now nothing more than a bobbing head disappearing into the distance.

As Arthur strained to focus on his target, the mob gathered more closely around Arthur. Men and women craned their necks to get a look at him; malicious glares pierced him. Hands probed at him, at the fabric of his clothes, felt inside his pockets.

A chill ran up Arthur's spine, and his hair stood up on end. Of all places, Arthur realised, he'd ended up in a rookery.

“I'm sorry,” he said, shaking off those who were pawing at him. “Excuse me.”

He'd just carved himself a space and started jogging again, when he caught sight of Dragon. Dragon had turned around, a crease on his brow that vanished when he caught sight of Arthur again. When he did, he saluted, then spun on his heels and once again started on a mad dash.

“What the hell?” Arthur didn't stand there poking at the question long. He burst forwards, fully intending to make use of Dragon's mistake, of his slowing down.

Dragon darted into a smaller, danker alley. Arthur followed, cursing as Dragon swung into the next forking, bringing them deeper into the heart of the rookery, where darkness reigned even mid-afternoon.

Dragon careened past a crowded public house that reeked like ale and smoke, its fumes polluting its general vicinity. A group of men sat drinking and smoking at a window table. When they saw them bolt past, they took to cheering. 

Arthur couldn't tell who they were egging on, but he acted on instinct all the same. “Ten pound reward you if you get me that man!”

He couldn't tell if that was idea or a bad one. There was a chance they'd rob him blind and kill him for those ten pounds. But odds were also good they'd have fun chasing Dragon. Mobs were, after all, voluble.

Either way he didn't wait to see what they'd do, if anything. He only hurled himself after Dragon.

Elbows high, legs pumping fast, Dragon swerved right, darted left, moving as fast as a hare. Arthur tore forwards with a grunt, cursed out loud. Dragon slipped under a line of hanging clothes waving in the wind. Since his upper body wholly disappeared behind drying sets of linen, for a while Arthur could only zero in on his legs. 

Dragon took another alley left, this one enclosed by rows of houses that nearly touched each other and no road paving to speak off, the beaten earth more of a mud lagoon. It was bisected by a third file of buildings that made of it a dead end.

“I've got you now,” Arthur muttered low, wincing against the stitch in his side. “You've nowhere to go.”

Dragon must have realised it too, for he stopped in his tracks, scanning the alley.

Arthur had almost caught up with him when Dragon flung open the door of the building immediately opposite him and scuttled inside.

Arthur knew he had him. He paused for a minute to let his breathing slow to something approaching normal and to brace himself for the upcoming confrontation. Dragon could have more tricks up his sleeves, so Arthur took a moment to let his muscles recover from his mad dash in pursuit of his quarry. When he no longer longer felt like his chest would burst, he advanced.

 

**** 

 

As soon as he was inside, Merlin doubled over, panting like a racehorse just past the finish line. Each intake of breath hurt like the cleaving of a lance to his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the next wave of it. When he felt less like he might pass out from shortness of breath, he gritted his teeth and popped his dislocated thumb back into place. The snap of pain caused his vision to go misty with unshed tears. His face twisted with the sharp bite of it and he focused hard on not falling to his knees. He could not pass out. Not with that policeman hot in pursuit.

There must be a way out of here. There just had to be. He wasn't trapped. He wouldn't allow himself to be.

With the pain receding, Merlin straightened and had a look around. The building was vast and hollow, so bare even the partitions between rooms had gone. At one time the place must have been some kind of warehouse or depository. But it obviously no longer was. The windows were dark with broad sweeps of charcoal and debris littered the floor. A rickety wooden staircase led to a an upstairs level that was steeped in darkness.

Maybe Merlin could find his way to the roof from there. He advanced into the gloom of the building with slow, careful steps.

Sunlight flooded in as the door behind him squeaked open.

“Stop right where you are!”

Though he turned around, Merlin made sure to remain in the shadows. “I'm not going to make it easy for you.”

The policeman bolted the door behind him and moved across the patches of sunlight that sreaked in through gaps in the walls. Merlin took a moment to castigate himself for not securing the door himself. “I won't give up either,” the policeman said, taking his handcuffs out again. “So your choice now is either shedding more blood or surrendering.”

“I've never shed any blood.” So that was what the police were thinking, that he had killed Sir Constantin. It didn't come as much of a surprise really, but it still stung in a way he hadn't been prepared for. “I've never hurt anyone in my life.”

“Tell that to Sir Constantin Colgrevance.” The policeman advanced further into the building. “I'm sure he'd disagree.”

“I didn't kill him,” Merlin said. “I didn't touch a hair on his head!”

The policeman smiled a twisted smile. “You're a sinless angel, that's what you're trying to tell me, is that it?”

Merlin balled his fists, a twinge of pain scuttling through him as he did. Thumb, right. “No, I'm not trying to say that.” He was aware that what he did was not something morality sanctioned. Still, it wasn't like murder. “I just didn't kill him,.”

The policeman strode across bars of sunlight. “I have a corpse on my hands that says different.” 

“I told you I didn't kill him.”

“You'll be telling that to the magistrate,” the policeman said. 

Behind him, someone, or possibly several someones, rattled the door. 

“Because the system isn't rigged against people like me?” It had always been and it would never change. By now Merlin was fairly wise about that. “Because judges aren't corrupt and policemen don't overstep the boundaries of the law?”

“You'd better try your luck with me,” the policeman told him. “Those people outside; they'll do anything for a reward.”

“And who sicced them on me?” Merlin asked, tired of policemen who assumed the worst and meted out justice according to their own twisted prejudices. “Who was so keen to arrest me that he involved bystanders?”

“You left me no choice.” The policeman tipped his head higher. “You led me into a rookery on purpose. You were hoping those people would do for me.”

“You needn't be sarcastic about rookeries,” Merlin said, grinding his teeth. “People are only in there because they're stuck, born in a place that offers no outlets, no promise of a better future.” Or almost none. “Besides, I wouldn't have let anything happen to you. I stopped on purpose to check you were fine.”

The policeman's eyes flared wide. “Doesn't matter. I have you now. You can choose. You can wait for that mob to break the door down or come with me. Unlike them, I can promise to get you to the station in one piece.”

“So I can swing?”

“So you can stand trial for your crimes.”

That was really rich, Merlin thought, as someone smashed into the door with an axe. Wood splinters rained on the floor. The weapon got caught and wrenched out.

The policeman took another step towards him. He spoke over the shouting going on outside. “So, have you come to a decision?”

“Get me out of here,” Merlin said, knowing he had no other option for now.

A beam of sunlight from a broken window fell slantwise on the policeman's face, highlighting his blonde hair, and slanted blue eyes. There was something earnest about them. They inspired trust. Ironic, Merlin felt. Still he'd go with his gut feeling. There wasn't much he could do about that the situation he was in now.

“Right, upstairs.” The policeman strode past him without even manacling him. “Coming?”

 

****

 

Since he didn't trust him one bit, Arthur let Dragon walk ahead of him. He climbed the stairs in his wake and together they crossed a landing that was so rotten Arthur was afraid they'd go right though it and fall to their deaths. They ran into a narrow ladder that led to the third floor. Once again Arthur let Dragon climb first. This time Dragon grimaced, grunted. That was when Arthur noticed how Dragon was cradling his thumb in a protective fist. So that was how he'd got out of the handcuffs. That took some determination, Arthur supposed. But had that determination been born of a simple desire to be free or out of guilt? Out of knowing there was no way he could prove his innocence before a court because he'd done the deed?

That was a question Arthur would have to find the answer to before the day was out. In the meanwhile they had to act. They went up the ladder. In the shadows a smaller door hid. It didn't yield when pushed. Arthur kicked at it with the heel of his shoe and the door cracked open. A mouldy odour drifted through in waves, but the passage was clear. “After you, _Dragon._ ” He said the name deliberately, inviting a denial. None came.

Instead, a smile played at the corners of Dragon's mouth. “So kind. I'm almost touched.”

“Shut up.”

Dragon went through first. As Arthur crawled after him, the doors below burst open and the warehouse filled with the sounds of voices and the trampling of feet.

When they made it to the space under the eaves, the noises diminished. Here there were no openings, but the slats were ancient and rotten for the most part; Arthur did away with them with a few kicks and elbow jabs, peered into the darkness, saw the floor of yet another warehouse, and said, “We'll escape from there. There's a gap in the next roof.”

They squeezed into the aperture and crossed the length of several roofs at a time, before Arthur gestured them into a casement. “In there,” Arthur said.

Dragon raised an eyebrow but complied. They slipped into a room that seemed to have stable flooring and a solid ceiling. “We'll wait here for the hubbub to die down. In the meanwhile you'll explain to me everything that happened with Sir Constantin.”

***

Merlin studied the man in front of him for a few heartbeats. He looked to be in his early thirties, had open but strong features and dressed in better clothes than the average policeman. “You need to know that I didn't kill him.”

“You’ve said that already,” the policeman said.

“When I got to him--” Merlin was aware he was treading on shaky ground, that he was putting his life and freedom on the line. But he had a hunch this policeman wasn't a bad man. He could have given him up to the mob had he so wanted, an easy, ruthless way to get justice. But he hadn't. So perhaps he was the right person to talk to. “He was already dead. By the time I got to him someone had done for him.”

“And why were you there, Dragon?” the policeman asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just passing through?”

This was as much of a confession as Merlin had ever spoken. “You know the truth.”

“No, I don't.” The policeman's mouth thinned. “All I have is vague statements from you.”

In for a penny. “I was there because I meant to steal his diamonds, or rather the diamonds he received in payment for orchestrating his misdeeds.”

The policeman grimaced. “So you are Midnight Dragon?”

Merlin allowed himself to smile for the first time in days. “That's a nickname they pinned on me back in the slums, but I don't go by it anymore.

The policeman grunted. “But, nickname aside, you admit to being a thief?”

“I admit to nothing.” Merlin had gone too long by that rule to blightly own up to his trespasses now Aware he had to give the policeman something if Merlin wanted him to believe him rather than fast-track him to the noose, he added, “But let's say that hypothetically I was. And that the day of the murder I just so happened to be hanging around near the scene of the crime. Given that set of circumstances, would you believe I had nothing to do with it?”

“I'd have little reason to.” The policeman puckered his mouth. “But let's hypothetically assume I believe you. That would imply someone else killed Sir Constantin. If not you, then who?”

That was exactly where Merlin wanted the conversation to go. “I saw someone else enter Sir Constantin's room before I could get to it.” Merlin gnawed his lip. “Now I don't know whether he was the one who wanted Constantin dead or only a hired hit man. But the fact is a man dressed as a valet knocked on Sir Constantin's door when the man himself answered. By the time I got into the room a while later, the gentleman had already met his maker.”

The policeman might not have been aware of what he was doing, but he leant closer. “Assuming this isn't a wild tale, are you absolutely sure Sir Constantin was alive when this valet knocked? You saw him?”

“Positive.” Merlin described the scene he had found in Sir Constantin’s room. His voice thinned as the memories flooded in, the lifeless face, the blood in spatters, the stillness hanging in the air. If there was a taste to death, that had been it, the hush reigning in that space. “I tell you. He was alive when he welcomed the valet in and dead when I stepped into his room.” Merlin stalled, his heart racing fast as he sank into stark recollections of that day. “Thievery is one thing, but murder is entirely another. I would never hurt anyone on a job.” 

The policeman raised an eyebrow. 

“On a _hypothetical_ job,” Merlin said, remembering who he was talking to and the rules he'd set himself during his career as a professional burglar. “What happened in that room... It wasn't burglary as I know it.” He stared at the policeman, willing him to believe. “It got dirty.” 

“And you have no other witnesses for this?”

Merlin's shoulders fell in a slump. “No. None.”

“And yet you were observed leaving the scene of the crime,” the policeman told him, an eyebrow up as though he was aware he'd scored a point. “Explain that away.”

“I already admitted I was there,” Merlin said, rattling out a powerful sigh that left his lungs depleted. “But that's not the point. The point is whether you believe that someone else killed Sir Constantin or not.” Merlin paused and admittedly he did it for effect. “If you don't, well, you can cart me off to Coldbath.” Not that Merlin meant to stay in there. “But if you do, you might catch the real killer and that's your calling, isn't it, putting criminals behind bars?”

“It is.” The policeman nodded. “But I want a vouchsafe from you.”

“A what?”

“Something in return for the faith I'm going to put in you.” 

Merlin's heart scalded with hope. He blanked his face though. “And what would that be?”

“Like for like,” the policeman said with a hint of a smile. “My trust for your name. Your real name.”

It was a lot to ask. Merlin seldom used his name during a job, whether it was a heist or a con. But even so, sometimes, especially in between jobs, he did like to fall back on its use. It was a reminder of who he was, why he did what he did. Giving it to a copper meant that Merlin would never be able to share his name with anyone ever again. On the other hand, he had to give this blue bottle something, or he had a feeling he would get carted to the clink. “Merlin,” Merlin said. Swallowing he added, “Merlin Emrys.”

“How do I know that's not sham?” The policeman cocked his head. “How do I know you're not giving me a fake identity, Midnight Dragon?”

“Check parish registers,” Merlin said with a lift of his shoulders he tried to make as insouciant as possible. “The one for St Giles in particular. You'll find my name in there. My date of birth. Everything.”

“You were born in a rookery?” the policeman asked with a note of wonder in his voice.

“Where else would people turn into thieves?” Merlin asked, wincing at the memories that resurfaced. “I was born in squalor. In a place someone such as you--” Merlin made sure to give the well turned out policeman a pointed once over. “-- can only know of in passing.”

“We’re in a rookery now. It’s not so bad.” The policeman’s naïve comment matched his wide eyes.

“Nothing like St Giles,” Merlin said. “I was born in the Holy Land.”

Whether the policeman knew what Merlin was talking about or not, he merely took in the information with a sharp bob of the head. “So the gentleman burglar is nothing but a myth.”

“It's a load of bollocks.” Merlin smiled. “So do we have a deal?”

The policeman hummed low under his breath. His brow furrowed into wrinkles and his nostrils pinched. Then the lines on his forehead relaxed and he said, “Yes.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “But this time you're not to break your fingers in order to--”

“I didn't break my thumb!” His entire hand might feel sore and his finger might be throbbing, but he hadn't got to that extreme. “I played on a weakness of mine.” He showed the policeman his somewhat swollen thumb. “I've had to get out of lots of handcuffs in my time and let's just say my joint is a little the worse for wear but it makes it easy to, you know...”

“You're either very stupid or very wily. Can't decide which at the moment.” The policeman stood up. “But that doesn't matter. From this moment on we wear these, Merlin.” He closed the handcuffs first around Merlin's good wrist, then his own. “I do not need any promises you won't escape. I know no man willing to go to the noose if he could just avoid it and since you've already escaped once, I won't delude myself into thinking you won't do it again. But I’m done running for today.” His athletic looks belied his words. “I want no more tricks from you.”

“Got it.” Merlin waggled his eyebrows. The policeman's tone was so overbearing Merlin couldn't help but yank his chain, play around with him to see if he would deflate. “Since I’m to be tied to you quite literally, can I at least know your name?” Merlin raised his cuffed hand with a smirk, as though reaching out for a handshake. 

The policeman's jaw clenched. “Arthur Pendragon, Scotland Yard,” he said, ignoring Merlin’s outstretched hand. ”Now, if we’re done with the pleasantries, we have a killer to catch.”

“So you believe me?”

“I said no such thing.” Arthur’s nose wrinkled.

“Oh but you did,” he Merlin said, cheeks dimpling. When Merlin received a glare in response to his smile, he gave up on taunting Arthur. He shared everything he'd learnt about the case instead, telling Arthur about all the steps he'd taken to catch the real murderer, mentioning every clue he'd found. He wanted to believe this was the right move, the right step to take. Alone, he couldn’t find the murderer. With the police’s help, however… “You'll see, together we'll find the crook who did this.”

Merlin tugged Arthur forwards.

Arthur reeled him right back. “I'm the one who's leading here. We'll go visit Sir Constantin's wife first. If she was a neglected, abandoned spouse, then she might have had motive to hire an assassin.”

“Hold your horses,” Merlin said. “There's something else we need to do first.”

Arthur scowled deeply at Merlin. “And what would that be, your Lordship?”

“We must pick up Mordred.”

“I'm not picking up any criminals.”

Merlin scoffed. “Mordred is no criminal. He's a child.”

“You've led your child into a life of crime?”

“He isn't mine!” Sometimes it felt like it, but Mordred wasn't Merlin's son. “For God's sake.”

“Even worse!” Arthur’s face hollowed at the cheeks in an expression of disdain. “You're corrupting a young mind. Leading a boy into a life of crime with no respect for his parents, or morals for that matter. You--”

Merlin whirled round and got into the Arthur's face. “I'll have you know that Mordred is an orphan. And it was either me or the workhouse for him. And right perhaps I'm not the most upstanding person in the whole of London--” Merlin really didn't know why he was explaining himself to a blue bottle, but he just couldn't let him run away with the notion he was using Mordred. “But me and him are a team. I look out for him. And it's rather rich of you to comment when you have no idea what it means to have been born to nothing, somewhere no hope's allowed.”

Arthur backed off, his shoulders went down and he licked his lips. “Fine. We'll pick up your stray and then go and talk to Sir Constantin's widow.”

“Good,” Merlin said, dragging him forwards. “Let's get on with it.”

“I liked you significantly better when you were the mysterious Midnight Dragon,” he heard Arthur mutter.

 

***** 

 

The boy scowled when he was introduced to Arthur, continued glaring at him during the whole of the van ride and when told he was to wait in the conveyance until Arthur and Merlin were done, he nearly bit Arthur's head off. It was only after Merlin had reassured him, saying that they would be back in no time that Mordred acquiesced to sitting in the police van at all. Even so, Arthur was sure he had the kid's eyes pinned to his back all the way to Lady Colgrevance's doorstep. It wasn't a pleasant sensation.

Lady Colgrevance was a beautiful woman no longer in the first bloom of youth. Her eyes were a deep blue and her hair so dark it had the lustre of night. When she saw Arthur and Merlin, she scowled, as well she might, considering the two were still manacled together. “Yes?”

Arthur showed Lady Colgrevance his warrant card. “Arthur Pendragon, Scotland Yard.”

Lady Colgrevance bestowed on Merlin a look full of distrust, then said to Arthur, “What is this about? I'm in mourning and I’m not receiving.”

Arthur knew how carefully he must tread here. He was here on no one's orders nor had his investigation led in any way to Lady Colgrevance. All he had to go on was an artist’s sketch that pointed to the guilt of the man he was handcuffed to and that in no way involved the woman facing him. “I understand and I'm deeply sorry for your loss, madam,” Arthur said. “But I would be obliged if you could answer some questions. It would help with the enquiry into your husband's death.”

Lady Colgrevance began to close the door on them. “I'm sorry but that is not something I wish to discuss.”

“Regardless,” said Arthur hurriedly, “I really do need to ask you some questions. We could opt for a walk to the constabulary, but I thought it would be much more comfortable for you to receive me here in your own home.”

“What about your companion?”

Arthur gave Merlin a sideways glance. “He's coming with, I'm afraid.”

“I find this highly irregular,” Lady Colgrevance said, “but I suppose I have no defence against the might of Scotland Yard.”

Once the door had fallen shut behind them, Arthur fished the handcuff key out of his pocket and freed Merlin. “You so much as twitch an eyebrow wrong and I'll lug you off to prison, no further questions asked.”

As though Arthur's words had made no impression whatsoever, Merlin smiled wide. “What am I supposed to do, stand in a corner with my head down like a child in detention?”

“To all intents and purposes that's what you are.” When Lady Colgrevance turned, Arthur made a point of looking daggers at Merlin. “So mum's the word.”

Lady Colgrevance ushered them into a large drawing room that was, however, empty of most furniture. A low dresser stood along one side of the wall; a sofa and coffee table faced it. That was all. Arthur noted discolourations on the walls, blank spaces where pieces had been removed.

Lady Colgrevance took notice of Arthur's scrutiny. “I'm not as affluent as I used to be.” She sat on the sofa, hands laced together, giving no indication that Merlin and Arthur could do the same. “You'll forgive that I'm sure.”

“Of course, you needn't apologise,” Arthur said, dipping his head. “I've come to ask about your husband.”

“Constantin.” She breathed deep, causing her clothes, a severe mourning ensemble made of crepe and silk, to rustle. “What's there to say about him?”

“I take it that you no longer lived together.” Arthur's only source for that was Merlin, but even so Arthur hadn't failed to notice the lack of a wedding band on Lady Colgrevance's finger. “Were you surprised to hear he'd been killed?”

“Of course,” Lady Colgrevance said. “No one quite expects one's husband to be murdered.”

“Not even an estranged one?” Aside from what Merlin had told him, Arthur knew he had proof of the estrangement in Lady Colgrevance's changed fortunes.

Lady Colgrevance gathered the silk of her gown in her fists. “What are you implying, sir?”

“Nothing.” Arthur paused so he could choose his words as carefully as possible. “I was merely wondering whether the reasons that led to your split might be the same reasons that prompted the murderer.”

Lady Colgrevance's lips thinned. “Are you trying to imply I killed my husband, Inspector?” She tossed her head back. “Because in that case I'll have you know that prior to his death I hadn't seen him in two years.”

“That's a lie,” Merlin said, stepping into the middle of the room while brandishing a gilt-edged card. “From the restaurant of the Dorchester.”

“Where did…” Lady Colgrevance's head snapped up.

“I found it in the purse on the table in the hall.” Merlin turned the card in his hands.

“You can't have!” Lady Colgrevance's eyes had grown bigger and were staring daggers at Merlin. “There was no time. You walked into the drawing together with the Inspector.”

“There was just enough time.” Merlin tapped the card against his lips. “If you're quick with your hands.”

Lady Colgrevance's face emptied of emotion and she waved a casual hand. “No matter. The card is an old one.”

Arthur was about to tell Merlin to shut up, when Merlin said, “It isn't. The card mentions the name of the chef as that of Monsieur Jacques. You'll find he was hired four months ago. It was the talk of the town for a while. There were articles in relevant newspapers. That card can't be old.”

“Maybe I got it four months ago, ” Lady Colgrevance said, her tone lightening.

“Why then didn't you say so when I first asked?” Merlin pocketed the card he'd lifted from Lady Colgrevances's purse. “I'll tell you why. It's because you were lying.”

Lady Colgrevance's face tightened wholesale. “I-- I--”

“You were at the Dorchester, weren't you?” Arthur hadn't believed there was something to Merlin's gambit till he'd seen Lady Colgrevance's reaction. “Quite lately, in fact.”

“No.” Lady Colgrevance's mouth puckered, but her eyes gave her away. “No, I wasn't.”

“Lady Colgrevance,” said Arthur, knowing he had her, “it would be very easy for me to go and verify this information. All I need is the word of a passing employee attesting to having seen you on the premises and I'll know whether you've dissembled.”

Lady Colgrevance bit her lip and a veil of frost issued from her tones. “I did go there.”

She was going to make this difficult for him, Arthur knew it. “When was this?”

Lady Colgrevance tapped her fingers on the sofa, turned her face away, as though she meant to shroud herself in silence, but then at last she said, “Two days before he died.”

Merlin snorted and Arthur glared at him. “And why did you go visit?”

“We were discussing a divorce,” Lady Colgrevance said with a snap of the tongue. “Normally, no lady would contemplate the option. A divorce is too detrimental to a woman's name, her good standing. But I was persuading Constantin to take the blame. After all, I wouldn't have had to fake desertion and I doubt he was chaste during the two years we were estranged.”

“And he was amenable?” Arthur had a hard time figuring the victim out. Official reports made him out to be an outstanding citizen, a conscientious civil servant. Merlin's tale made of him a man of no honour and little heart. Would Sir Constantin have allowed himself to take a fall for his wife when his position guaranteed he could have walked away from her without taking any real blame? And if he hadn't, was that a motive for murder? “Did you come to an agreement?”

“He seemed to feel guilty for the sorry state he'd left me in.” Lady Colgrevance's gaze encompassed the room. “I was playing on it. He would have come round.”

“We only have your word for it,” Merlin said. “What if he said no? What if he didn't give a toss about your difficulties? You would have had no way out but admitting to adultery.” Merlin's expression morphed and Arthur saw understanding shine in it. “And that would have been the end of you.”

“You're trying to say I murdered him.” Lady Colgrevance's gaze was flint. Her head went up and her mouth cast itself in a smile. “But I didn't. I had no reason to. A woman killing her husband to get out of a marriage? I'd have spent all my life in prison.”

“Not if you thought you could get out of it by hiring an assassin.” Merlin met Lady Colgrevance deathly stare with an unflinching one of his own. “If he did all the work.”

Lady Colgrevance fixed her eyes on Merlin's swollen hand, on the red line the handcuff had dug into his skin. “You forget something, sir.” She licked her lips. “I'm a lady. I wouldn't have known where to find such lowly persons.”

Arthur didn't think that necessarily cleared Lady Colgrevance, but he had nothing but suspicions to prove a theory that didn't bear much scrutiny. Still, he needed to gather as many facts as possible before he could in good conscience leave this place. “You still would have benefited from your husband's death. You would have inherited his assets.” He made a point of studying his rather bare surroundings. “Allowed you to live in the way you're used to and to remarry even.”

Lady Colgrevance laughed. “I don't intend to wed again. Marriage has cured me of the notion. And as for the money I still live genteelly.”

“That's as may be,” Arthur said. “But you'll see how you're still a suspect.”

“And you can see how you have nothing to pin on me.” Lady Colgrevance rose. “So unless you intend to escort me to the Yard and lodge a formal accusation I shall be asking you to leave now.”

Arthur couldn't go to his superiors with this little. He could imagine the scene. He'd go to his boss and say, ‘Sir, I'm trusting the word of a self-confessed thief and accusing a high born lady of a grievous murder. But I have absolutely no proof other than my gut instincts’. “As you wish, Lady Colgrevance.”

Lady Colgrevance smirked. “Let me escort you to the door.”

Merlin gave him a panicked look.

Arthur lifted a shoulder in response. There was absolutely nothing he could do about this. If Lady Colgrevance wanted them out, out they would go.

They crossed the hallway and got to the doorway. There Lady Colgrevance stopped. “Before you go, I'd like to add that I've but recently come back to London. I left four months ago and returned only briefly to meet with my husband. He was alive once I left to go back to the seaside. I stayed there until the day before yesterday. Very late in the evening. I wasn't here for the murder.”

“That would be a solid alibi,” Arthur told her. “Alas there's the possibility a hired killer was involved.”

“I wasn't alone during my holiday.” Lady Colgrevance's smirk widened. “I was with my particular friend Miss Morgause Lothian. She can testify to my never having contacted anyone at all.”

“At all times?” Arthur asked.

“As I said,” Lady Colgrevance told him. “Miss Lothian is my _particular_ friend.”

“Pardon me.” Arthur cleared his throat. “But you could have written your hireling.”

“Morgause and I shared the same room.” Lady Colgrevance opened the door. “At all times. I never wrote. I never visited the post office. We were together at all times and I never did any of those things.”

Arthur could probably poke holes in this. But he had a feeling that would be useless. “I'll come back if I have further questions.” Arthur sketched an air kiss of Lady Colgrevances's hand. “Goodbye, Lady Colgrevance.”

As they descended the steps, Merlin said, “You believe her?”

“She's not the sunniest person I've ever met,” Arthur said as he walked Merlin to the van. “But it does sound like she has a witness ready to confirm her tale.”

“What if this witness is lying?” Merlin stopped in his tracks. “What if she did contact a contract killer when this Morgause was sleeping.”

“Not entirely impossible.” Arthur entertained the notion that Merlin would have made a good detective. “But at the moment we might as well take what she said at face value. If we gather more clues and they point to her, then we'll get back to her, question Miss Lothian.”

Merlin's shoulders sagged. “But that means that we're half striking her off the list of suspects. And with de Maris and Vivian Kinglsey unlikely to have killed Sir Constantin that leaves only one other suspect!”

“And you.” Even as Arthur said it, he found the words jarring, thought them empty. “You're still on that list.”

“I know it wasn't me.” Merlin tipped his head back, looked him square in the eyes. “So pardon me for manifesting my disappointment at not finding the person who smeared my name.”

Arthur bowed his head. “We'll find them.”

“So we're going to visit the last one of the suspects?”

“What, now?” The sky was going plum at the edges, painting the city in its evening glow. “It's too late.”

“What, you only work a day shift?”

“No,” Arthur scoffed. He had worked at cases in the late hours plenty of times. He'd sat up reading reports on gruesome murders; he'd chased criminals in the dead of night. So he wasn't foreign to late night work. “But I'm tired and not at my best. I need to be at my best to interview suspects.”

“So what do we do? Reconvene tomorrow?”

Arthur closed a handcuff around Merlin's wrist. “Oh no. I don't trust you not to leave the country lock, stock and barrel.”

“But!”

Before Merlin could splutter further, Arthur said, “You'll be sleeping at mine. Under my watchful eye.”

 

**** 

 

Mordred eye-balled Merlin in such a way Merlin could entertain no doubt as to his unhappiness with their current predicament.

“It's only for a while.” Merlin passed Mordred the cup of hot chocolate and sat on the bed with him. “Until we've found the bastard who tried to frame me.”

“But he's a blue bottle, Merlin,” Mordred said, accepting the cup from Merlin even though the chocolate came from a policeman's pantry. “They take bribes and are bad and...”

Merlin couldn't let Mordred speak on like that. “I don't think all of them do.”

“You know how they think of rookery people, of people like us.”

“With contempt.” Merlin had had the same type of childhood as Mordred. He knew. “But think as they might, they're not all rotten. And maybe this one will help us find the culprit.” Somehow, for some reason, Merlin thought Inspector Pendragon actually might. “He's not so bad.”

“But he will arrest us.”

“He has nothing on you.” Merlin would protect Mordred in any way he knew how. “And as for me I can look after myself.”

Mordred made big eyes at him. “But what if they arrest you? What would I do?” Merlin watched as tears filled Mordred's outsize eyes.

Merlin pulled Mordred to him in a one armed hug and ruffled his hair. “I promised you I'd look after you and I want you to know that promise still stands.”

Mordred dried his eyes with his knuckles. “But what if he throws you in jail?”

“I won't let him.” Merlin's own eyes scalded with the hot prick of tears. “I swear. We'll be fine.”

Mordred nodded. “And nobody will think you're a killer anymore.”

“Yes. My name will be cleared.” Merlin made himself stand. “Now try to sleep. We all need to be on our toes if we want to catch out killer, don't we?”

Mordred looked torn, but then he yawned and Merlin knew he would postpone all further questions to the morning. Before he could drop it, Merlin took the cup Mordred was wielding and put it on the night-stand. The moment Mordred's head hit the pillow was the moment he fell asleep.

Merlin closed the door after him and ran into Arthur. “Oh, you're there.”

“It's my place.” For a seasoned con artist Merlin wasn't acting particularly brightly today. He needed to be on his toes. “Of course I am.”

“I was--” He pointed his thumb at the room he'd just left. “-- wishing Mordred a good night.”

Arthur's eyes lightened a notch and his expression softened, the lines in his face giving way to something Merlin might have nearly called a smile. “You're fond of the boy.”

“Yes.” Merlin saw no reason to hide that. Quite the contrary. “I want you to know that I'll do anything to protect him. Even from the police.”

“That actually does you credit.” Arthur nodded his head. “Even though I'd like to disabuse you of your strange notions regarding the police.”

“Really?” Merlin's mouth twisted wryly. “I don't see how.”

“Why don't we talk about this over a cup of tea?”

Arthur apparently didn't have a housekeeper, but he did own a tea set, albeit one that was so shiny it probably hadn't been used much before. If the current cuppa was anything to go by, he knew how to make a good brew. He placed it in in front of Merlin with a set expression and waited for him to take his first pull before starting on his own.

“I don't know what your experience has been, Merlin,” he said, taking measured sips of his brew. “But I do know that all policemen aren't as bad as you think they are.”

Merlin stared at Arthur intently for a while, took in his open stance, with his shoulders back and his torso out, and the steady light that shone in his eyes. “I get that you think it's true, that your profession is noble. But if you'd lived the life Mordred and I have endured you would change your mind.”

“I doubt it.”

“Right.” Merlin put his cup down. “Would you think blue bottles great if they'd helped the bastard landlord who harassed and threatened your mother?” They were the ones who'd broken into Merlin's home, kicking the door with their heavy boots, throwing furniture out of the window and slashing at the mattress for hidden money that wasn't there. “She was only one week behind but they stomped in like heavies because they were in the pay of Cenred, self-styled King of the Rookery.” Merlin winced. He could still remember the fear he'd experienced as a child, the taste of it on in his tongue. “Would you like them if they'd sent you to prison over five shillings worth of food you'd stolen to feed your mother?”

Arthur's face darkened with understanding, his expression deepening to a well of pity. “I--”

“I'm not gunning for your sympathy.” Merlin's thumbed the cup's handle, scratching at the enamel with his nail. “I don't need it.”

“I'm not giving it,” Arthur said, but there was nothing harsh to his voice. “I could have forgiven the child his first crimes. But the man? I'm sure you have enough by now not to need to steal.”

Merlin smiled, meeting Arthur's stare. “Perhaps. Or perhaps it's just the rush of the challenge that I'm after. The adrenalin rush.”

Arthur's intake of breath sounded harsh in the relative silence of the room. “I can't accept it as a good reason for theft.”

“I'm not asking you to.” Merlin held Arthur's gaze, wondering how long it would take for him to drop it. But he didn't, going head to head with Merlin. “I only want you to do your best to solve this case.”

“And when I have?” Arthur's eyebrow twitched upward. “You realise, I'll be going after you for theft after I've got my murderer.”

“Feel free.” Merlin brushed against Arthur on his way to set his cup in the sink, leant close and murmured, “Of course, that doesn't mean you'll catch me.”

 

***** 

 

The lodging house was just outside London. It stood on one side of a road that lost itself in green lanes on one end and that became more urban on the other. It had three storeys and a white porch with wide columns. In the sunlight it looked like a holiday home.

Matshobana KaZwide occupied a room on the third floor with a view of back lawns that rolled into the horizon.

When Arthur and Merlin entered, KaZwide rose to his feet. He wasn't a young man anymore. There was some grey at his temples and his face didn't have all the suppleness of youth. But he had a warrior’s body, large and muscled. His stance was that of a man ready to go into battle. “To what do I owe this visit?”

Arthur showed KaZwide his identification and said, “Inspector Arthur Pendragon, Scotland Yard.” He paused when it came to identifying Merlin, then opted for saying, “This is my friend, Mr Emrys.”

“I must infer a crime has been committed,” KaZwide said.

“A few nights ago, Sir Constantin Colgrevance was killed.” Arthur made sure to only state the facts. “We have learned that he had many enemies, but one of them, it seems, was you.”

“What makes you think I was his enemy?” KaZwide asked, with far less guile that Arthur might expect from someone so accused.

“Fort Victoria,” Merlin said, arching an eyebrow steeply. 

Arthur watched KaZwide’s reactions as Merlin continued. 

“Sir Colgrevance played both sides. He manipulated the Mashonas into stealing from your people, and then conveniently encouraged the Matabele to retaliate. The Matabele were thought to be the only ones responsible and were ruined by the fallout from Fort Victoria.”

“So you think I wreaked my revenge upon him?” KaZwide asked.

“If you believed that Sir Colgrevance was a traitor--”

“He was.” KaZwide tossed his head back. “Colgrevance and his friends lied to my King. I was an emissary and part of the diplomatic process, so I know about it first-hand. In exchange for money and weapons, they asked for mining concessions. We trusted him and his friends. We all came to an agreement. We thought there'd be peace. But it wasn't what happened, was it?”

“There was a war,” Merlin said, walking around the room. “A war predicated on a pretext. A war wrought from nothing but the whisperings of a land-hungry man, a stranger to your country, but one with a silver tongue who found it easy to dissemble.”

KaZwide’s eyes were haunted by memory. “Yes. They lied. They all lied.”

“And that's why you killed Colgrevance.” Arthur didn't want to say it. He felt strangely wrong-footed about challenging the man in front of him, but he had to do it out of duty, see this through. “For that and for your King's treasure.”

“Ah the lost treasure.” KaZwide hinted at a laugh. “I'm afraid your people stole it all. Sent the officers who got it to prison for embezzlement and kept the hoard for themselves.”

“You mean there was a government cover up?” Merlin said.

“Call it what you wish,” KaZwide said. “The treasure is gone. I'm sure some of it lined Sir Constantin's pockets.”

“All the more reason...” Arthur thought KaZwide was giving him all the proof he needed to make an arrest. And yet that made no sense. Which criminal would self-indict himself? Yet he couldn't bring himself to ignore KaZwide's motives. “You were one of Lobengula's generals. One of the most likely people to want to avenge him. You thought Constantin guilty of more than one crime besides the betrayal. It makes perfect sense.”

“As an Izinduna and according to the customs of my people, I could have decided his punishment,” KaZwide told them. “That is true. But I wouldn't have dealt with it like that. I would have sought the advice of an Izinyanga, a wise man, before I took action. He was killed with a gun, wasn't he? I would have used a weapon that was a symbol of the punishment being dealt. A ritual one. Not a commons gun.”

“That doesn't help me believe you’ve given no thought to killing Sir Constantin.” Actually, it really sounded like KaZwide had seriously considered the question. “It rather leads me to believe the contrary.”

“I bore a grudge against the man, I had no respect for him.” KaZwide said. “What he did to my people was dishonourable. But not more so than what his superiors did. Have I killed them? Have I sought them out? No. Why would I have?”

“You're in London though.” Merlin toyed with one of the knives KaZwide had hung on the walls. “That means you had some kind of business here.”

“To report them? Denounce them? Publicise the Company's crimes?” KaZwide's mouth thinned. “Yes. That was what I wanted to do. I can give you the names of the officials I've talked to on this matter. All of them have high standing in your society and will tell you that I came here to act through official channels. I did not come here to kill anyone.”

If KaZwide had really reported Sir Constantin to ministry authorities, then the likelihood he also meant to take it upon himself to avenge his King were considerably lower. Doing both would have been like painting a big target on one's back, one that made of him the first suspect. “I'll have to verify this story of yours,” Arthur said. “Get names. But if it's true...”

“Then you'll believe me.”

“Yes.”

“You ought to believe in morality more,” KaZwide said, before turning to stare out of the window.

Arthur and Merlin took the back path across the lawn so they could get to their hansom, walking across the shadows of tall trees whose bark was grey. “If it was not the widow and it was not King Lobengula's general and it was not the people you saw--”

Merlin said, “Vivian Kingsley and de Maris. They're both innocent.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“We can go over that again.” Merlin kicked at a conker as he walked. “You can talk to them. But you'll come to the same conclusion I did. They were not involved.”

“If it wasn't any of the main suspects,” Arthur said, wearing a smile in spite of his words. “Then you get back onto the list.”

Merlin didn't seem fazed by Arthur's statement. He kept on strolling, hands in his pockets, facial muscles relaxed. “You know it wasn't me. You know it in your bones because you're not that bad of a copper.”

Arthur didn't ask whether Merlin meant that morally or merely professionally. He was afraid the answer would be the latter. He studied him instead, the calm smile on his face, the ease of his limbs, his peaceful manner. “You seem so certain of me.”

“That's because I am.” Merlin's shoulders went up. “Call it an instinct of mine.”

“What if I said I still count you a suspect?”

“You'd be lying,” Merlin told him. “Lying to yourself and to me.”

Arthur stopped in his tracks while Merlin sauntered onwards. “That's not true. That's a humongous misconception you're harbouring.”

Merlin turned around but kept walking. “Tell yourself whatever you need to.”

Arthur bit off the smile that wanted to break on his lips and fell back into step with Merlin.

 

**** 

 

Merlin studied the racks spread before him for similar cards. There were golden cups and sun bursts with their rays fanning outwards, birds with their wings spread out and flowers in bloom. Merlin put a dragon on top of a second similar card and set it aside.

“Your move,” he told Mordred.

Mordred matched two cards together and grinned at him.

Arthur turned the page of the newspaper he'd been reading and said, “How can you know neither one of you is cheating?”

“Thieves’ honour,” Merlin and Mordred said at the same time.

Arthur scoffed and hid his smile behind the newspaper as he continued reading. The doorbell sounded. Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s with a questioning look. Arthur jerked his chin towards the interior of the house, and Merlin hustled himself and Mordred into the adjacent room whole Arthur moved to open the door.

“Arthur,” the man on the doorstep said. “I dropped by to see how you were. I got so worried when you called in sick.”

Arthur hummed low in his throat. “I, um, yes. I'm fine, Ranulf. I was just feeling a little under the weather. Too much work probably.”

There was a pause in the conversation, a shuffling back and forth of feet. “I thought you indefatigable.” There was a chuckle, then in a lower voice Ranulf added, “But seriously, I hope you're well and not too tired.”

A chill worked its way through Merlin's insides. Merlin's fingers dug tight into Mordred's shoulder. Mordred made eyes at him, mimed 'what?'

But Merlin couldn't speak; his brain was too busy shutting down.

“No,” Arthur said in the other room, completely unaware of Merlin's marrow-freezing discomfort. “I'll be back to work soon. I promise.”

“That's all right. Take the time to get yourself well.” The man at the door affected a laugh. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“By the way, how's Freya?”

The conversation between the man at the door and Arthur continued.

Merlin stumbled backwards, hand on his mouth, eyes huge.

Mordred tipped his head up at him. “What's going on, Merlin?”

Merlin went to his knees so he was eye level with Mordred and said, “Nothing. You just stay here.”

“No.” Mordred's mouth set in a no-nonsense line. “Something's going on.”

“Mordred,” Merlin said, squeezing his shoulder. “What I want you to do is stay here. Whatever happens in the other room, you have to stay put.”

The light of understanding shone in Mordred's eyes. “All right,” he said, in a convincing enough tone for Merlin to believe. “I will.”

Merlin heaved himself upright, held a warning finger up, got a nod from Mordred, then walked into the other room. The door had just closed on Arthur's guest.

“You're in on it, too, aren't you?” Merlin said, when Arthur turned around. He let all the bitterness he felt at having been played change the tone of his voice.

“In on what?”

“The murder.” Merlin's mouth twisted in disgust. “You're in on it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Arthur's eyes got as big as saucers and his face reddened in wide splotches. “I'm a policeman!”

Merlin nodded at the door. “That man you were talking to, he’s the one who killed Sir Constantin.”

“You must be joking!” Arthur laughed but his laughter died down the moment he saw how serious Merlin was. “He's a policeman too. My colleague, as a matter of fact.”

“He's a murderer.” Merlin would like to believe that he was wrong, that Arthur was speaking the truth. But he would never forget the moments he's spent before the door of room 305. They were burned onto his brain. “I recognised him. His voice. He was the fake valet who killed Sir Constantin.”

“You're seeing things,” Arthur said, hands stabbing at the air in denial. “Or hearing things, as it happens. Ranulf is my friend. He would never harm anyone. He would have no reason to. And he most certainly would never betray the Yard.”

“I'm telling you that he did.”

“How can you be so sure?” Arthur's eyes flashed. “You're mistaken. That's all it can be.”

“I'm not mistaken.” Merlin had little in life to fall back on. He'd had no material advantages. But he knew he could rely on his senses. They were what had got him out of the gutter and made him the man he was. “It was his voice.”

“No.” Arthur's jaw had set, his muscles bulged as he crossed his arms, and his eyes got flinty. “No.”

There was something in Arthur's firm denial, the panic that leaked from his voice as he contemplated Merlin's accusation of his friend that made Merlin think Arthur couldn't be involved himself. It was nothing more than a gut instinct. But gut instincts had saved Merlin on more than one occasion. Merlin couldn't, however, bring himself to think that Arthur's friend was innocent. “I’m telling you, he's the one who did it.”

“And why should I believe you?” Arthur asked. “You're nothing but a criminal.”

The accusation sliced at Merlin's flesh and left his bones raw. He didn't know why. He was after all a thief. He stole for a living and was proud of it, the skill it took to get at an impossible target, to liberate some precious gem from a location guarded by the tightest security. Yet, in spite of that, Arthur's words cut deep. “That I may be, but I'm telling the truth.”

“Ranulf has been my friend for the past eight years,” Arthur said. “I'm going to believe in him rather than the criminal who throws wild accusations at him!”

Merlin needed Arthur to believe him, both because he knew the truth now and meant to act upon it and because he wanted Arthur to understand Merlin wasn't a hardened evil doer. “And you'd be wrong!”

“I refuse to address your crazy speculation.” Arthur's face was hard as stone. “Tomorrow I'll go talk to the two suspects you approached before. If I find them to have alibis or unlikely to be guilty of the murder, you're the one I'm taking to prison.”

This time Merlin believed him. Arthur was looking at him with such contempt Merlin couldn't really doubt his intentions. “Right. Because everyone who's guilty of a crime must necessarily be also guilty of a second more serious one.”

“Because stealing is moral?” Arthur's voice rose with a sarcastic bite.

“Maybe not,” Merlin said, his own tones reaching higher. “But I've never stolen from anyone who couldn't afford it. I've actually always made a point to target people with a track record of corruption. So, yes, I've done bad things, but I made sure I was harming no one. Your friend...”

“Enough!” Arthur thundered, hurt in his voice. “Enough.”

Merlin would have replied, told Arthur to stuff it with his moral superiority spiel, but couldn't, because Mordred had just wandered in, looking daggers at Arthur. “Is something the matter?” he asked. Merlin had no idea whether Mordred had overheard his conversation with Arthur or not, but either way he didn't think there was any need to involve him if he could avoid it. “No,” Merlin said, though he privately thought that plenty was. “I was just discussing something with Arthur. I'll be right back with you.”

Mordred glared at Arthur like he was the dirtiest piece of scum. 

“I'm going to sleep now,” Arthur told Merlin. “Tomorrow I want you to be up early so we can continue our investigation. Don't--” He put a finger up. “Don't think of fleeing in the night. I sleep lightly.”

Merlin didn't give a direct answer. He said instead, “I'll be rejoining Mordred in the other room.”

He and Arthur didn't speak again that night.

 

***** 

 

From his hiding place in the alley, Merlin watched Mordred spring into action. He took off from one  
end of the cobbled street and ran straight into Freya Williams as she left her house. He tugged at her sleeve and made wide eyes at her. Freya bent over and murmured something to the boy Merlin couldn't catch. Mordred made wild signs with his hands, began babbling in tones that started quiet and got louder and louder by the minute. At last Mordred burst into tears and Freya knelt, put one hand on his shoulder and a handkerchief to his eyes. Mordred's crying didn't stop, but increased in pitch. Freya patted him, said, “Tell me how I can help you, boy, and I will.”

“Help me find my parents,” Mordred wailed in a way Merlin hoped he'd learn to tone down in the future. There was acting and then there was overacting. “Please. I'm lost and I can't find them!”

“Shouldn't we go to the police?” Freya enquired, wiping Mordred's tears away with a handkerchief that seemed to be getting more crumpled by the second. “I'm sure they'll help us find them.”

“Noooo.” Mordred's breathing was getting syncopated. “No police. They went that way. Please, help me find them.”

Freya straightened, squinted at the end of the street, and said, “All right. All right. We'll have a look for them ourselves.”

Mordred took her hand and dragged her forwards until they disappeared in the crowd.

As soon as they had, Merlin climbed the steps to Freya's house. With passers-by strolling to and fro, he stuck a pick in the lock and jiggled and twisted until it creaked open, trusting Mordred to keep the lady of the house occupied. 

 

***** 

 

Arthur was pacing behind his desk, when Merlin strode into the room. When he sensed Merlin's presence, he whirled round and shouted, “I was about to report you to the Yard.”

“Because you were so sure I'd scarpered,” Merlin said, disappointment ringing hollow in his ribcage. “I left you a note. I promised I would be back.” 

“This one, you mean.” Arthur snatched the hastily written note off his desk, balled it up and tossed it at him. “I woke up and you were gone. Mordred was gone too. I told you to stay and you left. What was I supposed to think?”

“I thought you were starting to trust me.” Merlin tipped up an eyebrow.

“I’ve known you a few days, Merlin, and you have admitted that you are a thief. Even though you claim to be one with a moral compass, you are still on the wrong side of the law, the law which you very well know I have sworn to uphold. But I am starting to trust you, which is why I agreed to continue the investigation after your outrageous accusations against my friend. Accusations you initially levelled at me, as well! And then you disappeared. I’ll ask you again, Merlin, what was I supposed to think?”

Merlin pointed to the crumpled note on the floor at his feet. “I only asked you for a few hours’ grace, Arthur. I realise how much my accusation about Ranulf hurt you, but I know what I heard. I’m sorry I accused you too in the bargain, but what was I supposed to think when you and Ranulf sounded so friendly? And you’ll have to forgive me if I didn’t believe talking to people I already cleared would help us. We’ve already found the murderer, Arthur. I’m sorry about it for your sake, but it’s true.”

Arthur's mouth pursed and his eyes welled. “Can you look me in the eyes and swear on whatever you hold sacred that you are telling me the truth?” 

“I swear that I am telling you the truth, Arthur.” He stepped closer to Arthur. “I swear it, and I can also prove it to you. Here.” Merlin handed Arthur the papers he had been holding onto all day. “A deed to a house in Southern France,” Merlin said. “Steamer tickets to Marseilles. And the letters.”

Arthur picked up the documents and skimmed them. “Oh, Ranulf, you fool,” he whispered. He shuffled through the papers, reading more carefully, confirming what Merlin had said, and arriving at the same conclusions Merlin had.

“Where did you…” he asked, trailing off, not sure he wanted to know.

“They were in his desk, in a hidden drawer. Not hard to get into when you know how. He had already left for work. He won’t know they’re missing yet.”

“Freya…” Arthur began, his lashes down, his head bent.

“Mordred made like he was lost, distracted her. She warmed right up to him and they’re probably strolling the neighbourhood right now, his hand in hers, looking for familiar faces. He knows how to avoid trouble. No harm will come to her.” 

“I see.”

“So,” Merlin asked softly as he arched an eyebrow. “What do we do now?”

“Let me deal with this,” Arthur said, eyes filling with pain, lower lip jutting.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Please.” Arthur sniffed; his jaw locked. “I need to--”

“No.” Merlin shook his head firmly. Arthur's pain had put a big dent in his armour. It felt fragile and about to crack. But if he let himself be weak over this he wouldn't be helping “No. We're doing this together. We finish this together.”

 

  
[ ](http://s845.photobucket.com/user/pouletroti/media/merlin%20rvbb%20rotrude%2001%20copie%20LD.jpg.html)

******

 

The edge of the heath was sprinkled with sharp yellow patches of flowering gorse brakes. Here and there on low round hillocks that did little to elevate the ground short clumps of holly trees grew. Wind flattened the grass and scattered furze about.

Enveloped in his big coat, hands in his pocket, Ranulf ploughed through the grass and met them atop one of the knolls. “What is this about, Arthur?” he said. His gaze roving over to Merlin, he added, “And who's this?”

Arthur still couldn't believe it. He knew it but deep down but he couldn't believe it. Even now, as he read his face, he couldn't find proof this man was anything other than his friend, his colleague. “That doesn't matter. What matters are these.”

Ranulf flinched when he saw the bundle of documents Merlin had filched from his house, then his gaze turned to steel. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

The answer drew an arrow through Arthur's heart. “Why, Ranulf?”

“I'm still--”

“You know,” Merlin said in a tone that surprised Arthur with its lack of challenge. “There's something to be said for being honest. For telling the truth. Even if you're guilty.”

Ranulf's gaze shifted onto Merlin. “Who are you?”

“The man who found those papers Arthur's holding,” Merlin said. “The man you tried to frame.”

When Arthur saw the light of understanding spark in Ranulf's eyes, he could no longer deny his culpability. Any notion he might have of this being a silly misunderstanding slid away. “Just tell me, Ranulf. Just make me see.”

Ranulf stepped backwards. He flung his hands upwards and yelled. “Make you see? How could you possibly see? You didn't live it!”

“What?” Arthur could guess now. “What didn't I live?”

“The everyday desperation of it. Of knowing that your wife is ill, of understanding that in spite of how much you love her there's nothing you can do to help her because you're not rich enough.”

“So you decided to take Sir Colgrevance's diamonds, and what, run away to France and fence the stones?”

“Yes!” Ranulf growled the word. “He was rich. He could afford losing those diamonds. Word on the street was that he wasn't the great man the government made him out to be. So I knew I had to strike.”

“Because you knew I would.” Merlin's eyes went taut. “You knew he'd be my next mark.”

“Yes.”

“And you knew I'd be the first suspect,” Merlin continued. “You singled me out to take the fall.”

Ranulf barked out a bitter laugh. “You're a criminal. It was high time you did.”

“I never hurt anyone!” Merlin grabbed Ranulf by the collar of his coat. “You-- You--”

Arthur wrestled Merlin and Ranulf apart. Merlin turned round, then pivoted back into place. Ranulf adjusted his collar.

“He's right, Ranulf.” What hurt Arthur the most was the fact that Ranulf had gone to such extremes. “If you needed money, why didn’t you come to me? And if you decided you had to steal instead of coming to me, you could just have taken the diamonds without harming the man.”

Ranulf shook his head, gestured wildly. “I needed more than you could give and once I'd set my sights on Midnight Dragon's mark, I knew I had to kill.”

“Oh for God's sake,” Merlin said, curling his fists at his sides. “There are so many ways you could have managed the heist without resorting to that.”

“Maybe for you.” Ranulf snapped his head to the side so he could face Merlin. “You've had a life time of training. You can misdirect, crack rooms more heavily guarded than museums, practice your infernal sleight of hand. Arthur and me, we’ve been on your trail for years, we know all about your talents. But what did I have?” He swept his hands wide. “Tell me, what did I have? The only way I could enter that suite was by way of knocking. And the only way I could get to know where he'd hidden the stones was if Sir Constantin told me. And I couldn’t leave him as a witness.”

“Then so be it!” Merlin's eyes flared. “Why didn’t you cut and run?”

“I couldn't! I'd have been implicated.” Ranulf said. “Everything needed to be above board so Freya could have the house and be attended to by the best doctors. She can't live on the run.”

“And what do you suppose would happen when your wife suddenly had the funds to afford the best doctors after you hared off to France.” Arthur asked. “What would people think?” 

Ranulf hung his head. 

“You didn’t think of any of that, did you?” Merlin said. “What would happen to her while you’re lying low in France.”

“Does she know?” Arthur asked, hoping his earlier guess had been right. “Does Freya know?”

“Of course she doesn't!” Ranulf's shoulder sagged. “She'd rather have died.”

“And how do you think she's going to react when she finds out?” If his own pain at the betrayal was anything to go by, Arthur could imagine how much worse it would be for Freya. “Do you think she's going to be pleased? Do you think she’ll permit a single shilling of this blood money to be used to help cure her?”

“She can hate me for all I care, as long as she gets to live!” Ranulf's voice went down again, his tone having a dead ring to it. “She needs to live, Arthur. I don’t care what happens to me. But Freya, she doesn’t deserve this.”

“I see.” Arthur couldn't believe his ears.

“What are you going to do?” Ranulf asked.

“I'll tell you what's going to happen,” Merlin said, looking from Ranulf to Arthur. “You have a sick wife. She matters more than you do.” A strange light appeared in Merlin's eyes, a soft one full of sorrow and melancholia. “As you said, she can't be cured without the money you stole. So I'll let them believe I killed Sir Constantin.”

“You'll hang.” Arthur would stop it with everything in him. The horror of it wasn't to be borne.

“Have I ever been caught?” Merlin smirked a smirk that had none of Merlin's usual jocularity about it. “Has anyone ever stopped Midnight Dragon?”

Arthur could see what Merlin was doing and it broke his heart. “I caught you.”

Merlin smiled softly at him. “I won't let myself be caught again.”

“You can't guarantee that,” Arthur said, because he knew how true it was. A myth had built around Midnight Dragon but that didn't mean the man behind it was untouchable. “You aren't guilty of Sir Constantin's murder. It's not right.”

“But I am guilty of a few crimes.” Merlin shrugged. “I'll just let people believe what they already do. That I did it.”

“But why?” As much as he couldn't bear the thought of Ranulf being destroyed, the idea of Merlin on the gibbet was so fundamentally unacceptable, he couldn't take it without revulsion overcoming him. “Merlin, please.”

“Because I saw his wife,” Merlin said. “She was kind to Mordred. That's excellent recommendation in my books. Besides, I didn’t get the chance to help my mother the way Ranulf's will do for Freya. My mum deserved that chance. I only wish…” His eyes softened further and his voice choked off. He coughed then, with a certain grittiness to it, and cleared his throat. “It doesn’t matter what I wish. This is what’s best for all.”

“But how...”

Merlin placed a hand around Arthur's forearm, shocking Arthur's system. “I'll manage.” He turned towards Ranulf to give him a quick glance. “I'm giving you four years. So your wife can get the best cure money can buy. I'm giving you that time to part from her. But then I want you to turn yourself over to the police.”

“And if I don't?” Ranulf asked the same question Arthur wanted to.

“I'll see to it the law finds you.” Merlin put on his most no nonsense face. “In the meanwhile, you'll leave the force and look after your wife. Fence those diamonds however you were going to and figure out what lies you’re going to tell her to explain your new fortune.”

“I love her,” Ranulf told them, his shoulders going up just as his fists clenched. “She's always my first concern. Whatever else happens, she'll always be my first priority.”

“Good,” Merlin said, wagging his head. “That’s the only thing that makes this bearable.” Merlin stuck his hands into his coat and moved away from them.

When he was out of hearing distance Arthur told Ranulf, “You ought to be damned grateful to him. He’s given you a better shake than you deserve. Given Freya a chance.”

“I know.” Ranulf met Arthur's eyes. “But I can only think of Freya, not of myself, not of him. I do appreciate what that gesture means for her.” 

Arthur tried to understand the man Ranulf had become, this new alien configuration of him. Arthur wondered if his desperate need to save his wife could compensate for his actions, make up for the fealty he had betrayed. However much he turned he thought in his head, he couldn't come up with an answer. He didn't think there was a justification for murder, that there ever could be. As reprehensible a man as Sir Constantin had been, no single man should take it upon himself to condemn another. And yet what would Arthur have done if the person he loved the most had needed him in the same way? He would probably have gone to the ends of the earth for them, whatever that entailed. Still, in spite of this scattering of understanding, a heaviness sat on Arthur's soul, a distaste that clogged his throat with bitterness. 

“You've betrayed the Force, lied to your wife and made me betray my oath.” Arthur hunched in oh himself, rattling out a breath that shook something loose inside him. “You’ve disappointed me, Ranulf.” Arthur couldn't bottle it in any longer. “You’ve disappoint me greatly.”

“I only did it for Freya,” Ranulf said. “You've forgiven Midnight Dragon his thefts, why can't you forgive me a crime prompted by love?”

“Goodbye Ranulf,” Arthur said, refusing to answer a question Ranulf knew the answer to.

 

****

 

Arthur stripped off his shirt and sat on the bed, the crisp linens releasing their camphor scent as he did. He bent over to unlace his boots. He was undoing the first knot, when a shadow lurked above him.

He made a grab for the letter opener on his night-stand, straightened and dove. A shaft of moonlight lit up the face of the man who had invaded his room.

Arthur extricated himself from his lunge and dropped the letter opener. “Merlin! It's been months!”

“What, no ‘happy to see you, Merlin’, ‘so glad that you evaded justice, Merlin’?” Merlin smiled, his eyes dancing as his lips twitched with mirth. “No, ‘long time no see even’?”

Arthur stood. “I really don't know how to react, to be quite honest.”

Some of the mirth faded from Merlin's face, washed off in the blink of an eye. “I thought we parted on good terms. ”

“We did,” Arthur said, taking a step towards Merlin, stepping into a pool of the moonlight. “I just... never thought I'd see you again.”

Merlin looked away but his lips were quirked. “I don't give up on my... friends.”

“So am I a friend because I didn't throw you in jail or because of some other intrinsic quality in me that you actually appreciate?” Arthur arched an eyebrow, letting the warmth he felt bottled behind his ribcage shine in his eyes.

Merlin stepped closer. “I think you may be the one copper who's not bent. Respect where it's due.”

Arthur thought back to Ranulf, to what he'd done. “I'd hoped to convince you we were all upright, fighting for justice but--”

“You are,” Merlin said, skimming his hand up Arthur's forearm before dropping it. “That's all that matters.”

“For a thief.” Arthur dipped his head but then straightened it again. “You aren't that bad either.”

Merlin's eyes danced at that and he bumped hands with Arthur. “So you don't hate me.”

“No, I don't hate you.” Perhaps admitting to it was dangerous, but if Arthur wanted to pride himself on his honesty, then he'd have to. “As a matter of fact I think you are a good person.”

“Why, I'm flattered.”

“No.” Arthur was sure Merlin wasn't getting it. “I think you're brave and good, and quite noble at heart. I quite admire that.”

Merlin didn't say anything but his lips stretched back into a riventing smile. It sparked a shiver under Arthur's skin, put warmth to his thumping heart. Arthur coughed. “Um, how's Mordred?”

“Fine,” Merlin said, taking a step forwards and placing a hand on his hip. “He's fine. Living with me as always. Though I was thinking of enrolling him into a good school. That way he can make something of himself.”

“And how's--”

Merlin cupped Arthur's neck and brushed his mouth against his, stoppering Arthur's questions. Arthur breathed hard, froze with the surprise of the kiss, but then he smiled against the pressure, something about it lightening the burden in his heart. Merlin's tongue stroked at the seam of his lips until Arthur’s mouth opened to the touch. Merlin slipped inside, and it was warm and hot, and not a little thrilling. As they kissed, Merlin stroked the top of his spine, a swipe of gently curled fingers, a feather light brush of his palm. Arthur's knees turn to butter and almost buckled.

“Why?” Arthur asked breathlessly, though he did it full of the knowledge of his own want.

“Because I want to play cops and robbers.”

Arthur huffed a sudden laugh that expanded his ribcage. “That's the worst quip I've ever heard.”

Merlin's threaded his fingers through Arthur's hair, combing it back and away from his forehead. He nuzzled at Arthur's mouth. “And here I thought there was a fun underside to the copper's stolid façade.”

Catching Merlin's lips in a swift kiss, Arthur said, “There's plenty under the façade.”

“I know.” Merlin scored Arthur's throat with his lips. “I know.”

While Merlin nipped at his throat, Arthur blanked of all thought and his belly tightened. “I want this. I want you,” he rasped. If someone had told him that one day he’d be impatient to sleep with a criminal, he'd have laughed. Now he couldn't quite. “I don't care. I just do.”

Arthur ran his hands up Merlin's back, pulled him close. “Off with the clothes.”

Merlin chuckled soft and burring. “That what you want?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, with all the conviction that burned in his body.

Before he could say another word, Merlin shoved him back onto the bed.

Arthur got to his elbows and watched as Merlin stripped. The shirt went first and then everything else did too. While you could guess at the shape of Merlin's body from the way his clothing sat on him, seeing him naked was different. There was an angular grace to him that was quite sweet, that struck Arthur wordless.

Merlin didn't give him time to recover or think. He crawled on top of him, a shock of body warmth and weight.

He braced over Arthur, lips stretched in a smile, and rolled his hips.

“Do it again,” Arthur rasped, one of his hands settling at Merlin's waist, right where the bone jutted, the other cupping his face. “Come on, Merlin.”

Merlin rocked against him. 

Arthur made a sound deep in his throat and bucked upwards.

Lowering himself, Merlin brushed his mouth across the length of Arthur's throat, bit and nuzzled and sucked on the soft underside of it. Something tightened inside Arthur and made his pulse quicken. He groaned and moved in counter measure to Merlin.

Arthur wanted to catch Merlin's mouth for a kiss, but Merlin’s lips were brushing kisses on Arthur's clavicles, lingering at the spot between them. “Merlin,” Arthur said with grit in his voice.

Merlin's palms skimmed down his torso. They did so in broad sweeps that left Arthur breathless, that made his muscles flex and him moan. One handed, he opened Arthur's trousers and lowered the hem of his underwear. He cupped him, rubbed him.

With a choked huff, Arthur said Merlin's name.

Merlin took him in hand for a couple of desultory strokes, locking lips with him all the while. Arthur went breathless with the heaviness of the kiss, gasped when Merlin chased the foreskin back with his fingers and moistened their tips with the fluid he found under it. Locking eyes with Arthur, he sucked the wetness off them and Arthur went wild with it. “Merlin.” 

Another quick grin, and Merlin moved down Arthur’s body.

With his thumb Merlin brushed against the base of Arthur’s cock. With a motion of his half open hand, he nudged it into his mouth. He sucked on the tip, wetted it with a swirl of his tongue. He found the slit and the folds around it, licked them wet before drawing Arthur's cock back into his mouth. He suckled. Arthur's breath stopped in his throat, and his body went taut with the rush of orgasm.

It took him a few precious moments to come back to himself, sweat already cooling on his body, but when he did, he murmured to Merlin, “Come here, you haven't finished.”

He pulled a kiss from Merlin's mouth and then maneuvered him onto his side. Merlin huffed, hiccupped a laugh, but his body was tightly stretched, trembling in place. His cock was a hard line that jutted from his legs. Arthur pressed up behind him. He lay kisses to the side of Merlin's neck and let his hand rove round his hip. When he wrapped his hand around Merlin and gave him a long stroke, Merlin went tenser, the tendons in his neck sticking out. Dipping his head, Arthur laid one kiss along the length of it, then sucked on it. When Arthur began to run his fist up and down his cock, Merlin started shivering.

“Is this right?” Arthur asked. “How do you want it?” He spoke the words against Merlin's temple. “Slower? Faster?”

“Faster,” Merlin said, his voice dipping into lower and lower registers. “Harder.”

Lips parted, Arthur licked up Merlin's neck then sucked on his earlobe. At the same time, he skimmed his hand up Merlin's cock until it touched the flare of his head. “Is this good?”

Merlin threw his head back and Arthur saw his eyelids fan down, the tracery of little veins in them visible. “I-- ah.”

Arthur's squeezed and rubbed with his fingers, watched Merlin's face take on lines like pain, redden.

He listened to the rhythmic sound of his hand on Merlin’s cock and Merlin’s panting breaths, punctuated by little noises that sounded like gasps of pain. 

“I'm going to assume you like this,” Arthur said, sure he wouldn't get any answer, not now.

His nose buried in Merlin's neck Arthur slid his palms up and down the length of him. Going fast, then hard, only to slow down again. Trying for a little variation, he grabbed the tip and moved Merlin's foreskin up and down his cock-head. The skin moved easily, slicked by precome.

Merlin hissed, panted. “Too much.”

Arthur bit at his neck, meandered a thumb down the length of his prick, down its back, and gave Merlin one last pull that made him wet Arthur's hand with streaks of come.

When Merlin's breathing had gone back to normal, Arthur said, “Will you stay?”

“You know I can't,” Merlin said, but he took Arthur's hand in his and laced their fingers together. “Not yet.”

Arthur had known that. Merlin was still a fugitive from justice and Arthur still with Scotland Yard. He knew they couldn’t mesh their lives together in any coherent way, but there was something to this moment, the peace of it, that had prompted him to enquire. “No, of course not.”

“I need to hide for a while longer.” Merlin burrowed under the top blanket. “And I don't know how you feel about me being... on the wrong side of the law. For all I know, you're itching to manacle me again.”

“I want to handcuff you again, yes,” Arthur deadpanned. “And have my way with you.” Making a joke of it was the only way. Otherwise putting this into perspective – the love and the loss – would be too much. “But I'm fine with you being...” Arthur couldn't say he approved of theft. But he did understand Merlin's position, how he'd come to be what he was. “…who you are. I know you're a good man.”

“I’m not,” Merlin said, low and with less of the cocky pride he usually postured with. “I steal for the thrill of it now and... Going back to living a normal life, the idea of it, it’s hard.”

“I get that.” Arthur rested his chin against Merlin's shoulder. “I do.”

“So you're fine with me being a thief?”

Midnight Dragon. The name had meant so much to Arthur. Duty, an objective, a career goal. Now, it had come to signify something else entirely.

“Yes.” He meant it too. Somehow, he did, deep down where his heart ticked. Then Arthur rolled his eyes. Maybe the gesture would give some levity to the moment. No need for Merlin to know just yet how fine Arthur was with every single thing about him. “As long as you don't go robbing old ladies and stick to cleaning out the ruffians.”

“I've never done anything else, Merlin said. “So if I stick to that plan, would you be fine with me dropping by from time to time? Paying you visits?”

“Yes.” Arthur hurried to have that out. “Yes.”

“Until one day...” Merlin told him, squeezing on his fingers.

“Until one day, Merlin. Until one day.”

Ranulf only had four years after all.

 

[ ](http://s845.photobucket.com/user/pouletroti/media/merlin%20rvbb%20rotrude%2002%20copie%20LD.jpg.html)

The End.


End file.
